 
### Septima Luna

### Copyright 2013 Gabbo de la Parra

### Published by Kidwell-Lovely at Smashwords

### Smashwords Edition License Notes

### Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

### This ebook is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

### This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and language and may be considered offensive by some readers (M/M foreplay and intercourse).

# Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Comments

Glossary

About Gabbo de la Parra

Other books by Gabbo de la Parra

Get in touch with Gabbo de la Parra

#  Acknowledgements

### To Fangtasia and Susan for encouraging me to expand a 4K story and their wonderful ideas for this expansion. To Viv S. for her incredible support as Beta Reader, I'd be a mess without your input. To Maurizio Z for helping me with the Italian Headline, bellissimo!

# CHAPTER ONE

It is only great souls that know how much glory there is in being good.

Sophocles (496 BC-406 BC)

Septima Luna was the hottest club in the hottest side of the city. A small club by the standards of any metropolis: five hundred people fitted comfortably any given day, and a thousand in a Vienna-sausages-mini-can-attempt on holidays. Nevertheless, this appeared to be all Chico, the six-foot-four owner, wanted to be happy. Expansion seemed unnecessary.

But Chico took very good care of his patrons. Three bars strategically located (ten bartenders per bar) to handle the thirsty men looking for more than a Slurpee. Angel was one of the thirty bartenders of the club.

Well, actually, Angel was a bartender slash go-go boy slash escort.

Bartender during regular days, go-go boy on holidays and in his fifteen-minute breaks, if taking a tinkle wasn't an emergency. Escort if he liked the man. Not because Angel needed the money— nah, he charged (after the debacle that brought him to the big city) to keep his heart at bay and to avoid people thinking him easy

He didn't care if people judged him as a whore; the idea of profit would distract them enough to prevent too many questions.

"Why does he have to do that?" Jack, a fellow bartender asked to no one in particular as Angel gyrated over the bar, while patrons cheered his progressions.

"Don't be a sourpuss, girl. He likes the attention, besides _that_ brings more customers and tips to our side of the club. Be grateful."

Angel squatted a little for a patron to plant a tip in his short-shorts and checked who had vouched for him. Of course, Hugo.

Hugo had rescued him from the metaphorical ditch where he was, after so many days in the big city without knowing anyone or a place to go. Angel had been assaulted, and with a black eye and torn clothes, people were scooting around him like he had the plague.

As tall and dark as Hugo was, Angel would have gladly paid with his body after the second night he spent in Hugo's flat (since he didn't have anything else to offer). It was a spacious accommodation in a remodeled warehouse, and Hugo had offered it to Angel with open arms and a fridge full of delicious food.

Hugo just uttered several tsks and shook his leonine mass of curls when he found Angel spread on his bed with an "I don't have anything else to repay your kindness."

"That won't be necessary. I'm flattered, though." Hugo smiled, eyeing Angel in the way any normal red-blooded man would look at a hot guy spread-eagle and willing. He turned to leave the room, throwing like an afterthought over his shoulder, "I spoke with my boss, and you can start at the club tomorrow night. If you feel better."

Two years later, they were still roommates, Hugo had a sleek short haircut now, and Angel went to school during the day and shimmed his ass at the club nightly. They had found each other naked in the way brothers would (in embarrassing moments), and nothing had ever happened between them.

Angel winked at Hugo, mouthing a "Thank you" and looking at his watch. The break was over, and he jumped behind the bar and donned his red tank top again, after wiping the sweat covering his well-defined muscles with it.

Jack twisted his mouth in a silent "Gross." With all the mischievousness of the world, Angel blew a kiss in Jack's direction as soon as the man looked his way. A raspberry was the response from the blond bartender. _A cute boy_. If he weren't a royal bitch ninety percent of the time, Angel would totally hit that. No charge, just to shut him up.

A couple of times, Angel had been tempted to investigate the origin of Jack's animosity toward him, but the right moment had never truly come about.

When the second break of the night arrived, his bladder made a number on him, and he missed the opportunity to dance over the bar. Sometimes, as he danced between the glassware and beer bottles, Chico encouraged him to bring patrons up to dance with him. Close to his third break (around 3:00 a.m.) his boss told him, "Pick the craziest looking guy by the bar and pull him up to dance with you, I need some pictures for the website."

Septima Luna had go-go boys only on holidays, and one night bored to death, Angel climbed the bar and began dancing. The bartenders around him were shocked for five seconds and, when their bar started to fill up, they urged him to take his tank top off. But no one else followed the initiative; thus, Angel remained the only bar-boy allowed to do it now.

So, by the time Angel was dancing on the bar with the Tim Burton version of an emo-vampire, something that hadn't happened in a long, long time came about. You know the story about Moses parting the Red Sea? Well, in the exact moment Angel gyrated his hips toward the entrance of the club, and the fortunate crazy-of-the-night ground behind him, it happened.

The bodies contorting on the dance floor opened a gap that expanded by the silent command of the man moving the mass of dancers with the sheer force of his striking presence. The man looked at Angel, above the writhing revelers, and smiled.

His consciousness faltered and his boots slipped on the wet bar, the emo-vampire behind him caught him by the arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Stepped on water, that's all. Thank you." Angel gave a sexy smirk. The guy winked an eye covered in black eye-shadow.

Angel zoomed in on the tall man again.

I mean, what the fuck? The man is wearing a fedora for crying out loud.

The waters kept receding as the man approached his bar. Angel's break neared its end, and for some insane reason (he couldn't begin to analyze in that second) he didn't want to go back to serve drinks. He wanted to jump into the man's arms.

I've heard of insta-lust before, but this is ridiculous.

Angel gave a resounding peck to his dance partner, helping the guy off the bar and wondering if the fangs in the wicked smile were real. As he composed himself and put his tank top back on, one of the other bartenders approached the man with the silliest smile and adoring eyes Angel had ever seen before.

Bitch, I saw him first.

Whoa, what was that?

To his utter enjoyment, the man politely refused (slow motion head shake) and pointed in Angel's direction, mouthing "I want him."

If for some bizarre reason you had the opportunity to see a drowning puppy, you would understand the expression of the fellow bar-boy as he walked toward Angel and smacked him on the ass, growling "Lucky whore."

Instead of doing a couple of somersaults, Angel steeled his body. This wasn't right; he was oblivious to attraction and satisfied the needs of his body through paying customers, keeping his feelings in the proverbial filthy third drawer. A man giving money would not take him seriously enough to think of something else than a quick fuck.

No. Angel was going to fight the tingling and all the fuzzy bullshit warring inside him.

He planted himself in front of the man and nodded, as much business-like as his betraying body allowed him in that moment. Dammit, he was getting a fucking hard-on right there—a true feat to hide in short-shorts.

"Are you an angel?"

Oh shoot, that sounded too much like an intergalactic movie he loved, and the quote unquote angel ended really fucked up.

"My name is Angel, but I'm the farthest thing from a cherub."

"Cool, my name is Malachi. I'm an astronomer." The charming stranger tossed the info like a crisp one hundred dollar bill and didn't try to shake Angel's hand. Most customers did.

His voice sounded like a caress, and it surprised Angel how easily he heard the man despite the booming music as background. "A teacher?"

That explained the fedora.

Thanks to his hillbilly ancestors, Angel had a fair complexion and even now living close to the ocean, he'd never been a fan of a permanent tan, neither of tanned men. Nevertheless, there was something in the caramel complexion of the obviously Caucasian man urging Angel to lick his neck to find out if it tasted as tropical as it looked. And the darn burgundy neo- _Guayabera_ with so many open buttons wasn't helping his effort to resist the temptation.

"No. A scientist," the man said with a stunning smile.

"Huh. Ok. What can I get you?"

"What's your favorite drink?"

Yeah, Angel knew this drill too.

"I don't drink."

The man, Malachi (Angel didn't know why he felt compelled to use the man's name) arched an eyebrow. "Problems with it in the past?"

"Nope, I just have better things to do with my liver. You like it stiff?"

Wrong choice of words.

"Is that an invitation?"

"A. Stiff. Drink." Angel shook his head, embarrassed without reason.

"Surprise me," Malachi offered, using that disarming smile again.

Angel made the strongest cocktail of the house, Sodomized Zombie, to get rid of the guy and save himself before he did something really stupid. "Here you go."

Malachi, the astronomer (in a fucking fedora), drank the toxic concoction as if it were tap water. He licked the sweetened condensed milk off the border of the tall glass and from his lips as he finished.

The motion stirred something Angel wasn't aware he had inside, lurking, waiting. Now, the fuzzy feelings were butterflies or praying mantis or swarming African bees. Who the Heck knew?

"Another." Malachi beamed.

"You sure you want another? That's a very strong one."

Malachi made a puzzled face. "Really? It didn't seem strong to me."

If Malachi hadn't mentioned he was an astronomer, Angel would have thought he was an archeologist instead and could totally envision him drinking fermented firewater with some lost tribe; not many people can handle a Sodomized Zombie effortlessly and ask for another right away.

He made another and presented it to Malachi, but before he could draw his hand away from the glass, the astronomer featherly caressed his fingers, shocking Angel. It wasn't the intimate gesture but all the reactions of his body to that slight touch. Even his nipples stood alert after that.

"Tonight is the seventh moon," Malachi commented after finishing the cocktail in two gulps.

"What's that, some kind of newspaper horoscope mumbo-jumbo?"

"Nah. It's just a good day to fall in love."

"I thought you said astronomer not astrologer."

"I'm a scientist, but I believe in love." Malachi winked.

That undid Angel, but he recuperated quickly. "Really? Well, I charge, darling."

"Fine with me. How much? Wait a second, what time do you finish here?"

"My shift ends at five, but I help with the cleaning afterwards."

"I'll wait for you."

"I haven't given you my price."

"I'm sure you won't find the need to charge me."

"I charge upfront, _darlin'_."

"Well, by the end of our date, you will give me the money back."

"See the sign behind me? No. Refunds."

"You're funny. We're going to have a great time."

Angel twisted his mouth. "We'll see."

Malachi asked for another of the same. After that, he just turned around to watch the people mingling and flirting. Now and then, though, he would check on Angel as he moved about the bar.

Hugo watched Angel with the same face a friend would have when he found you spending all your money in a slot machine hoping for the jackpot. For whatever the reason, customers kept them at opposite sides of the bar, so Angel didn't have another option but to mouth, "I'm charging him."

Hugo's arched eyebrow was Morse Code for "Yeah, right."

Closing time came. "Go. The hot man is waiting for you." Hugo playfully patted Angel on the ass, then chanted in a very out-of-character singsong, "He's waiting in a limo."

How the Heck Hugo knew that? The sneaky bastard had been snooping. And that reinforced all the alarms already ringing amok inside Angel. Hugo rarely paid attention to the men around Angel.

The only solution here was to go outside and tell the man to fuck off.

Nah, Angel couldn't do that, Malachi had been a complete gentleman. Besides, he was stupidly easy on the eyes. Angel changed to his street clothes and (with all the bugs in his stomach mimicking the Cirque du Soleil) went to confront the mysterious, fedora-wearing astronomer.

There was something about a white Hummer limousine that screamed anything but scientist, and when Angel was about to do a one eighty and run for his life, Malachi lifted the door and stepped out of the square monster. "Please, Angel."

The tug to his cock was stronger than if Malachi had actually had his fist around it, more like an octopus tugging at cock, legs, arms and neck. Angel was so fucked up, he felt like going to his knees and start sobbing. What was this man doing to him?

"Please, Angel," Malachi repeated, taking Angel's hand. "It's not even about sex, just let me buy you breakfast."

"It's too early for breakfast." He knew he sounded more childish than a kid with a freshly scraped knee.

Malachi chuckled softly. "Well, It's Sunday, would you rather go to church?"

Snorting, as his defenses wore thin, Angel murmured, "You aren't seriously inviting me to church."

"I'll take you wherever you wish to go." Malachi interlaced their fingers, and it felt so right, so perfect.

"Breakfast's alright." Angel drew his hand off Malachi's.

"Excellent, we can buy it on the way and eat at the beach. What do you think?" Malachi beamed with that disarming smile, making the invaders in Angel's stomach do somersaults and cartwheels.

"I like that idea very much." As Angel entered the limo he blurted, "You aren't tricking me into an orgy, are you?" The space was so large it was ridiculous.

"No. it's just you and me."

Drive-thru magic was bestowed upon them, and they were on their way to Una Beach. Malachi was simply holding Angel's hand and humming to himself, and (strangely enough) Angel was content with the unobtrusive atmosphere.

However, Angel wanted to know more about the astronomer, who now sans fedora sported an incredibly appealing shaved head. The perfect shape was turning on all kinds of fantasies in Angel's mind, and he needed to talk before he went daft. "Where do you do your astronomy thing?"

Yeah, like that question didn't sound moronic. Astronomy thing? What?

"I work at the observatory on Mount Pumpernickel." Malachi offered without patronizing him. "Oh, here we are."

The limousine stopped, and Malachi lifted the door facing the ocean. If they lifted both doors, it would look like the simple bird of a child's painting.

The sun was already up, but the beach was blessedly deserted. The saline breeze tickled Angel's nose, making him scrunch it.

Malachi chuckled softly beside him, stealing a peck from his cheek, even with his hands fully busy. "You're adorable."

Well, that was definitively new territory. Angel had been called sexy, hot, smoking and every other frisky endearment in the book but never adorable. The silent fact that it touched him deeply than previous words didn't go unnoticed. Being all awry as he was, he was only able to come up with the sappiest response in the history of first encounters. "I like your shaved head."

This, in turn, brought color to Malachi's tanned face, and his nicely shaped ears turned slightly red. Then Angel realized that a head was a head after all, and maybe Malachi understood it as innuendo. One way or another, all that redness told Angel that he wasn't alone in his confusion.

"You know, I'm not really hungry." Malachi commented leaving most of his breakfast untouched. "But having all the beach for us makes me want to swim. Would you like to swim with me?"

Angel wasn't hungry either, and maybe the icy morning ocean would deflate the hard-on and the little monsters having a bacchanal in his stomach. He said "Yeah" with more enthusiasm that the situation deserved, but he decided to stop overthinking and let himself go. What was wrong with enjoying a nice moment with a nice man? "Oh, but we don't have towels."

"We do." Malachi moved deeper into the limo and retrieved pristine white towels from a compartment.

Knowing that those towels weren't meant for swimmers, images of he and Malachi doing whoopee flashed in front of him.

Cold water, pronto.

Malachi undressed swiftly, ending up in black silk boxers. The muscles and the roughed contours of the astronomer's body were mouthwatering and left Angel with a throbbing ache. Once again, everything in the man spoke of anything but a scientist. One with such a built definition couldn't really spend that many hours researching the stars.

Snapping out of his awe when he felt the taste of salt on his tongue, Angel stripped hastily. Now the flaming pink brief didn't seem the good idea it was when he exited the club. They weren't at a nude beach so he had to make do with the skimpy underwear.

As they stepped out of the limo, Angel noticed for the first time their chauffeur, a little old man that in another life must have been a prestidigitator by the way he was manipulating his croissant and cigarette.

Then Angel paid attention to the necklace Malachi wore.

I've never seen a Star of David within a circle before. Hold on. One, two, three... that's not a Star of David; it's a pentagram.

"Are you a devil worshiper, mister?" Angel tried to joke but sounded solemn instead.

"No." Malachi rubbed the pendant between two fingers and continued, "Heh, this confuses people sometimes. See, it's pointing up, just a sign of the goddess. When you find a pentagram pointing down, it is a calling for dark things."

"You said the goddess? The longer I stay around you the less I believe you're a scientist. Science and Religion are supposed to be at odds."

"And yet there are scientists in the Vatican. Anyway, I'm not Catholic but Pagan, and we don't have a problem with enlightenment. The God and the Goddess encourage knowledge and wisdom."

"I don't know whether to be scared or fascinated."

"I _encourage_ _you_ to be fascinated," Malachi murmured huskily, kissed Angel softly on the lips this time and offered his hand. "Come on, the ocean calls."

They ran together to the welcoming waves like raucous children.

Angel couldn't wait to discover all the secrets Malachi had.

# CHAPTER TWO

The elevator opened doing its unnecessary dingy-ling, and Malachi Neun stepped out, Kovak, his partner, right beside him. He stopped, raising his hand. "Wait. Something's wrong."

Kovak deactivated the device creating the illusion he was a short, scrawny old chauffeur, transforming him into his actual six-foot-two, three-hundred-pound beastly self. The two inches shorter than Malachi were compensated with sheer bruteness.

Both drew weapons and moved stealthily toward Malachi's apartment. It was too early on a Sunday for his neighbors to be wandering about. Unlocked and ajar, the door screamed foul play.

"What's the point of a doorman if people let themselves in at their own leisure?" Malachi spat under his breath as he positioned himself on one side of the door, leaving Kovak at his left.

"A stupid comment coming from you," Kovak growled, amused.

Malachi let out a sound between a growl and a chuckle; he had let himself into other people's houses, offices, and bodies easily enough on a regular basis. He flipped a happy bird at Kovak, then pushed the door slowly with his foot, since they were not part of any governmental agency that could go slamming doors and shouting "Freeze."

Not the best way to find your place after a night out. A fucking hurricane would have being a lot more considerate than the sons of bitches who had destroyed his apartment. There was literally not a thing left untorn, unbroken, _unfucked_.

They divided to check the area; it was a big apartment after all.

"What's that smell?" Kovak asked, entering Malachi's room, upon finishing his checkup.

"The fuckers didn't just jerk off on my bed. They also took a giant dump."

"So wrong, man. So wrong," Kovak shook his head, the perfect tailored suit made him look extremely out of place amid the ransacked room.

"We do breaking and entering, but we never do shit like this. Plain wickedness, if you ask me." Malachi settled his weapon on the small of his back secured by his waistband as he gathered the bedclothes to cover the massive gift and mitigate the unwelcoming fragrance. "These fuckers weren't looking for something. They just wanted to leave a message."

"Whatever happened to perfumed letters?"

"Not funny, Kovak. Did they fuck your bed too?"

"Nah, apparently they don't mess with _the help_." Kovak grimaced. "Do you wanna take samples of the spunk or the shit?"

Malachi let go of the bundle. "Be my guest. You're _the help_ after all, heh." After Kovak rewarded him with a scowl, Malachi added, "Something tells me it's not gonna be human's."

"One can never run too many tests."

"You just like to play with your food first."

"Ha, you were doing exactly that with the boy."

"Shut up."

After removing several violated books out of the way, Malachi opened a secret compartment on the floor at the far end of his bedroom. He punched eight keys, and a screen emerged. A robotic female voice requested, "Activation code?"

"Prince Charming is in love with Cat Woman." Malachi enunciated. He caught the blond Dutch rolling his eyes. His partner thought such a password was the stupidest thing in the world. Malachi viewed it as the complete opposite, nobody in their right mind would think of it to break it. Sometimes the silliest things proved to be the most reliable things.

A woman of undefined age appeared on the screen. She arched a perfectly delineated eyebrow. "What is it, Nine?"

"I made contact with the target."

"Took you long enough," she hissed like the serpent she was.

"The point is to make him want to be part of the operation. I had to study him first to be able to sweeten the deal." Malachi gave a sharp nod. "I'm aware he must be willing for it to work."

"Nine, I don't care much for your prattle. Just make the damn boy fall in love with you. Fast." She narrowed her Machiavellian eyes. "Or you want me to assign another agent. We have better looking men, there are just not as competent, but I'm confident they could manage to charm the little queen."

"No reason for that, you'd be back to square one."

"Then start moving rooks or bishops or whatever the fuck you need to move to make this happen."

"Of course, Tau. I'll keep you posted."

"Put the Penis _in_ Pronto, Nine." The screen went dark.

"Uh-oh, she called you ugly." Kovak singsonged behind him and patted his head.

"She didn't." Malachi growled, "Besides, what's this—Mr. Universe?"

Kovak shrugged. "Well, Nine, if they accomplish what they want, the whole world will be involved, so... I guess that makes you Mr. World, at least."

"Would you shut the fuck up for a minute, Kovak?" Malachi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Be useful and run the frigging tests while I check the security cams, just for the sake of doing it because I'm sure it is not gonna enlighten us."

"You didn't tell her about the break in."

"No use. She would tell us to move, and then what? How long 'til we can equip another place with all the secret shit we have in here? Have you forgotten how much space of the apartment next door we're using? Go do your lab thingy and play with the data base." Malachi waved Kovak away.

"Sure, Daddy," Kovak squeaked, clapped and gave little jumps like a six-year-old girl just told to have tea with her humongous pink stuffed unicorn. "And while I play with my gadgets..." Now he changed to his usual bass. "You can call a fucking cleaning team because you got a date tomorrow night and perhaps, if the goddess is merciful, you're going to get lucky and bring the boy home."

Malachi growled under his breath, hoping for all kinds of holes on the floor to swallow the three-hundred-pound brute and take him far, far away. "Sure, let's get this show rolling." After a second, as Kovak walked to exit the room, he barked, "And the goddess is always merciful."

His partner turned and gave him an unconvincingly sad stare, shaking his head. "You're so gullible." He whistled on his way to the secret lab until Malachi couldn't hear him anymore.

His thoughts turned to his target.

Angel...

The worst target on Earth.

"Mister Smith and Miss Gomez: Nerva and Trajan. Mister Green and Miss Harvest: Hadrian. Mister Hunter..."

"Fuck. Why do I get two?" bitched Miss Gomez (better known as Potty Mouth Maria) with a huff.

"Shhhh, Nerva only ruled for 16 months. Professor Theseus is trying to make twenty or so years periods. See? He put Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius together for Tiffany and Eric."

"Oh, shut up, Angel, they were co-emperors."

" _Girl_ , you do love to bitch." Angel was happy with his emperor, Hadrian, but not with his partner Alicia; she gave him the creeps.

Professor Theseus continued, "...focusing on issues of urbanization, trade and consumption, colonization, and the army. That's all for today, you may go."

"Better than the one on possession in Ancient Greece," Potty Mouth grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"It's not like they were doing exorcisms. It was part of the cult, more a medium thing that evil spirits."

She re-doubled her eye-rolling efforts. "I'm Catholic, _hun_ ," as if that explained everything.

Angel wasn't raised anything, so he didn't have dogma to interfere with his belief in reincarnation and other esoterically spiced ideas.

The students started to exit the lecture room. Luckily, Roman Archaeology was the last class of the day. Angel could invite spooky Alicia for a latte or something and discuss the assignment. He didn't want to dwell too much on his date that night with dreamboat astronomer Malachi Neun.

It had all been really nice and everything, but he wasn't a doe-eyed, fresh from the closet and raised in a backwater town gay boy anymore. He couldn't let some random man (ahem, customer) distract him from his main goal: to have a career and become someone, so he could throw his success at the faces of those who treated him like zilch in said backwater dumpster.

The fedora-wearing scientist had offered a chunk of money as tip for the time spent together, and Angel refused since they didn't even kiss (a little touch of lips didn't count, thank you very much), even if a bunch of geese (in V formation) crossed his mind for a second, crazy-honking to take it, and that way disillusion the darn cue-ball.

Malachi's dark eyes kept popping in Angel's head every time he wasn't focused on something for more than two minutes. After their quote unquote dinner, he would fuck that man within an inch of his life to get him out of his system. It had been a fucked up Sunday, and Monday was proving nothing better, especially with Alicia from the Gloom giving him the evil eye across the table.

"How you wanna do this research, internet, the library...?"

"I work best alone." She whispered, sipping her _Nine Wonders_ aromatic tea afterward.

"Well, if you intend to become an archeologist, you'd better learn to play with others."

She grimaced, "I like dead things."

"You mean, old things." Angel seriously considered slapping her, if he would not end up charged with assault of a walking corpse. "Okay. Our next class together is Wednesday, so let's come up with some ideas and discuss them then. I have to go." He didn't wait for her to replay; he simply stood up and left. She giggled maniacally as he walked away.

Angel shuddered; he would need double scrub after that encounter to get rid of her clammy vibes. Some nice mud from the _Dead Sea_ would do the trick.

"Don't you look dapper in that suit?" Hugo announced as Angel walked out of his room.

"Well, the darn Flaming Peacock is black tie only." Angel was used to being arm candy, so fancy places didn't faze him. And there was no point in denying that his five eleven looked good in Armani. The midnight blue brought up the sky in his eyes, and hair gel was the best invention after flavored lube.

Hugo whistled. "Hmm, that astronomer has to be fucking or getting fucked by the owner or the owner's wife. I heard reservations take at least six months in line."

"All I know is, if I were a lady, I would be wearing a tiara and diamonds up my ass."

"I can lend you some ruby cuff links."

"Nah, this fake Rolex could screw even a connoisseur. You know I'm not a materialistic boy." Angel spent most of his well-earned money in tuition and school stuff. There was no such a thing as cheap and good education. The expensive Italian suit had been a gift from an appreciative client with a tendency toward hot liquids (as in coming from somebody else's body).

"Good for you." Hugo opened a beer and flopped on the couch. "Is he picking you up in that flashy limo of his?"

"No idea. I texted him to text me when he arrived. I have the uncanny impression that he might appear at the door with roses, and I would totally slap him if he does something like that."

"You are a true romantic, sweetie." Hugo continued his channel surfing.

"Hugo, you know my position on love and other pink-related items." Romance, falling in love, chick flicks: Angel avoided those like the Black Death.

"Yeah, you only love ancient things."

"I'm gonna discover fucking Atlantis, baby" He knew he looked completely silly doing some gangster hand gesture and speaking like a thug—in formal wear. Double O Seven would kick his ass for desecrating the uniform.

"The Flower Duet" from _Lakmé_ howled from Angel's cellphone. _Your carriage awaits you, handsome_ , was the succinct message. He went to the couch and gave Hugo a kiss on the cheek. "Don't wait up."

"Eat like a man. You gonna burn it all afterwards anyway." Hugo flipped to a horror movie.

Malachi waited, seated on the hood of a sleek black Lexus. A brilliant smile appeared on his magazine-cover-worthy face as soon as he saw Angel. No fedora tonight, just a smoking suit that made Armani and other Italian princes next to paupers.

Angel told his stomach to control the frigging somersaults and cartwheels; this was just a darn cue-ball playing dress-up.

Uh-hmm deny all those sweet vibes coming from him, telling you he can fuck you twenty-five ways to Sunday and then some.

Gosh, how much Angel hated that inner voice. He pasted his most charming smile on and approached Malachi. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself. Hungry?"

"Starving!" He was not going to ask about the missing limo or the venerable chauffer. Perhaps it had been rented.

Malachi opened the door for him and whispered, "I hope you are ready for a little dancing too."

"I'm a boy scout, always ready."

"Adorable."

As Malachi rounded the car to the driver seat, Angel grumbled inwardly.

Bunnies are adorable.

# CHAPTER THREE

"Chico, we have a problem."

"Sheez, you sound like somebody put a flare up your ass."

"I told you there was something dodgy about that astronomer."

"What—Chico chuckled—he has ties with the Armenian Mafia?"

Hugo huffed, "Neun is a German last name, not Armenian. The Brotherhood has traced him back to Juggernaut."

"Are you shitting me?"

"Nope, his father was a prominent member of Juggernaut until his assassination in the late 80s, and you know no family leaves those fuckers."

"Well, if we have eyes on all twelve living embodiments. It's only logic that they'd do the same. Any activity around the others?"

"The LE's closer to the three gates haven't reach puberty yet—same as other four, so they are inoperative. No reports on suspicious liaisons with the others. The only red flag is Angel."

"Damn Angel, I knew he was going to be a problem since he picked up Greek and Latin so fast in college." Although Chico had laughed his ass off when he learned Angel had been correcting his professors.

"I thought we had some years before the PhD and field work. With that face and that body, funds will never be an issue for that boy." Hugo sighed.

"By that time, we would have found a way to keep him away from Europe. Sent him to Tibet or fucking Easter Island. I want a detail on that boy, every single minute. I want to know what the fuck he dreams. Understood?"

"I have two shadows with him in the restaurant."

"Good. Freaking Flaming Peacock is worse than a Monte Carlo casino."

"Oh, but the band is so good."

"Focus, Hugo. If Juggernaut gets that boy, we—you, me and the rest of the world are fucked."

"Clear as vodka, Chico."

"I want a complete account on that date first thing tomorrow. Have two or three new _clients_ prepared for Angel in case we need to interfere with whatever is happening between him and the motherfucking stargazer. You know his type."

"First thing in the morning." Hugo ended the call and smashed the disposable cell phone on the pavement. He walked to his car, beeped it open, started the engine, blared some Black Eye Peas and drove straight to their apartment.

"I love that you have a sweet tooth."

"This tiramisu is to die for." Angel's big baby blues twinkled as he cleaned the delicate silver spoon.

The image sent a torrent of blood directly to certain parts of Malachi's anatomy that weren't supposed to be working on this mission. He knew a time would come for them to be intimate, but he planned to do things slowly and conquer the prize in front of him.

Although Angel could play the part of sophisticated arm candy perfectly, Malachi preferred the go-go boy who went for a swim with him in delicious pink underwear. He needed to keep talking, to leave secluded those unnerving images that came from the memory of the ring of Angel's laughter as they splashed side by side.

"So explain, why is this girl creepy?"

"She emits these dark waves, like a stormy cloud over someone's head in a cartoon. If she were Gothic, I could deal with her ominous aura, but she dresses like a normal person and yet you think she would get an ax out of her messenger bag and make a jigsaw puzzle out of you."

Malachi gave a soft laugh. "You talk of waves and aura. Are you into such things?"

"You mean like new age-y things? Nah, but since I was very little, I know when I don't like somebody, because I feel some weird vibrations coming from them. It isn't that I can see the energy field or anything of the sort. I would say, just a sensation of repulsion."

"What do you sense in me?"

Suddenly the empty china was the most interesting thing in the world. Angel scribbled with the little spoon over the minute plate. Where those runes he distractedly made?

"It's that bad?" Malachi used a touch of amusement to lessen the depths of the question.

"If it were bad, I wouldn't be sitting here. I can't read you, which in itself is neither good nor bad. Simply odd."

The man and woman at the next table were more than surreptitiously trying to overhear their conversation. It was time to be away from them. Jewelry like the lady wore could be used as bugs. "Then let's say I have a transparent aura, since it doesn't repel you. Shall we dance?"

"The band isn't playing trance music, and there are no male-only couples dancing."

"Handsome, the rich and fabulous only care that this little narcissus has been plucked." Malachi winked openly. He'd seen the looks on both men and women toward Angel. "And we don't need to wait for other boys to dance together."

"Who would lead if we go?"

The lad wasn't going to relinquish power easily. "You can lead for a while. I'm not a recalcitrant top."

Angel seemed to think about it for a minute. "Nah, you're taller. We'll look better with you leading." He waited for Malachi to stand up and offer his hand.

The snoopy couple went right behind them to the dance floor.

His hand on Angel's waist proved to be a further mortification. Even with so many layers between them, his target's heat touched him deep in his chest. Malachi and Angel swirled around the floor. The waltz ended, and an instrumental version of "Unbreak my Heart" started.

Still glued to them, something in the man and woman's sway, alerted him. The apartment intruders were also male and female and even if they had used black clothing and mountain masks something in the woman's round hips and the man's square shoulders pointed to them as culprits.

Malachi found Kovak, who was as himself and not pretending to be the chauffeur so Angel wouldn't recognize him, and gave a signal as their eyes met. The uppity eyewear made him seem younger, less menacing, even approachable, and the tux... he looked a lot slimier than his usual kick-ass broad beastly self.

"I wonder if Hadrian danced like this with Antinous." Angel commented as they finished an intricate loop.

"What?" Malachi tripped but recuperated quickly.

"The emperor of my assignment. He had a male favorite named Antinous. Of course, this kind of intertwined dancing didn't start until after the Middle Ages, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Do you know a lot about this lover?" Malachi asked cautiously.

"Well, not particularly. It's in every book about that period of Roman history. Hadrian was so in love that he built temples in Antinous name, founded cities and gave the boy his own cult." Angel sighed. "I never cared much for the boy, but Hadrian has always had something calling me to him. It's because of him that I decided to become an archeologist."

"I don't think there's anything left to unearth about ancient Rome."

"Trust me, tons are still missing."

Their male tail stared at him straight in the eye and, with a disgusting sneer, showed him a semiautomatic concealed under his one-thousand-dollar jacket.

"Fuck," Malachi blurted under his breath.

"Did I step on your foot?" Angel had his pretty eyes wide like saucers; a lovely tinge covered his high cheeks.

"Not at all, handsome. I have an idea, why don't we go to the observatory? I can guide you through the stars."

Angel gave him a blinding smile. "Kinky. I haven't had office sex in a while." The target stroked Malachi's shoulder softly.

This was the worst moment to put that image in an agent's head. Angel getting fucked by him while looking at the stars through the giant telescope, the dome opened showing the immense sky, dark and surreal. Malachi swallowed hard. "Of course, darling. Whatever you like."

"You're making it sound as if it were my plan all along. You are the client here, not me." Angel chuckled and grabbed Malachi's ass, there—in the middle of the crowded dance floor, with their tails devouring their every moment.

Malachi noticed Kovak walking toward them, an arched eyebrow and a comic grimace pasted on his face. Surely he had noticed Malachi's little jump. Kovak grabbed the woman detailing them and punched her dead in the nose, hissing loudly enough for all present, "Bitch, that's my man you're pawing."

Her yelp and the sudden gasp of those around them was their cue to scram. "C'mon, Angel. This seems a lawsuit about to explode. We don't wanna be summoned as witnesses."

"What the h..." Angel tugged against Malachi's pull, but as he saw jabs begin to fly and screams to rise above the orchestra, he put his sweet butt in motion and ran behind Malachi.

By the time they reached the exit, tables were soaring; delicate porcelain breaking, a gunshot or two, and Malachi could swear he heard a baby crying in the background. The only thing missing was the proverbial cat yowl.

Breathless, they found the valet boy, took the keys and jumped into the car without a word. The Lexus became a missile, and they burned tires to gain the interstate exit to their destination.

Angel huffed. "Darn, pity I couldn't throw a punch." He sounded really put out.

"Are you serious?" Malachi kept his eyes on the road, but he smiled inwardly.

"Heck yeah. I'm from Dixieland, baby, bar brawls and guns are my thing."

"Goddess, you're cute." Of course he knew all those details about Angel's life, and yet to appear enchanted and amused was not a feat. Besides Angel had an unspecific accent that could be from any of the Confederated States.

"Malachi, kittens are cute, bunnies are adorable. I'm going to take offense here and ask you to stop the pet names." The growl was neither cute nor adorable, was all manly and sexy. "I don't mind heavy petting later though."

"As you wish, ack!" A car came out of nowhere and rear-ended them. "Son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong with that idiot?"

"No idea, just brace yourself." The Lexus bucked again rammed by the heavy tinted sedan.

Malachi veered into another lane and another car slammed into them, and it seemed on purpose. They were fucked. Where was the fucking cavalry when he needed it? A car from the Juggernaut should be close by as back up.

Several bullets ricocheted on the back window. _Take that suckers_. The Lexus was armored.

"Is this a frigging tank?" Angel gave him a hard stare, arms extended between the dashboard and the back of his seat to minimize the heavy bucking of the vehicle thanks to the bashing from two fronts. "What the fuck is going on, Malachi?"

A third car materialized and banged the one jostling them from their left. Malachi stumped the brakes. The car behind them continued, using their trunk like in a ramp, and went flying, in a backward flip to land grill first. It exploded as Malachi floored the gas again. Angel grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Are you mad? You killed those people!" There were screeches and crashes behind them.

"It's them or us, Angel." Malachi never took his eyes from the road. He heard another explosion and, through the mirror, caught the car that came to their rescue swarming for a moment and then straightening up and chasing after them. "I swear I'll explain, just let us be safe first." He took a second to find Angel's narrowed eyes, and they were struck with so much force he lost control of the wheel.

The Lexus skidded and they went nose dead against the dividing wall. His forehead met the top of the steering wheel and a second later the airbag slapped him. Desperate, he turned to Angel and found him unconscious, mouth gaping on the other air bag, a gash bleeding above his left eyebrow. The world stopped turning until Malachi encountered a pulse on Angel's neck.

A massive figure loomed over Angel's window. Malachi opened the compartment between the seats and drew out his faithful companion _Italianissimo signore_ Beretta 93R, first grown-up gift from his deceased father.

As the door opened, he didn't know if he was facing friend or foe.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Hugo banged the door of Septima Luna's manager office, and Chico scowled at him as he entered. Jack was right beside Chico with a hand on their boss's shoulder. "Out, Jack, now," Hugo shot. He didn't care if he'd interrupted something. They were in serious shit.

"Easy, girl. You don't own the man." Jack hissed, his eyes like missile launchers.

Chico patted the hand still resting on his shoulder, and the act infuriated Hugo even more. "You know, I can totally bitch slap you out of the office, not caring if I get fired." Precisely because Hugo knew that wouldn't happen.

"Jack, baby, be a doll and check if the truck from the distillery arrived." Chico winked. Jack sauntered out with a triumphant grin on his stupidly pretty face.

Refraining from eye-rolling, Hugo blurted, "No need to treat him like a queen. You just have to ask, and he would bend over for you."

"That's not the point." Chico snapped his fingers twice and made a 'C'mon' motion. "Spit it out."

"No trace of them. After the car chase, they simply vanished," Hugo grumbled, balling his fist.

"What happened with the chip Angel doesn't know he has."

"They must be deeply underground because no satellite can pick up a signal from that transmitter. We have swept every surface of Earth for the last forty-eight hours."

"Any anomalies around the gates or the other LE's?" Chico rapped with a pen over his desk. A telltale of his distress.

"All LE's are a negative. Contingents are at the ready to strike on the gates if activated."

"Do you think they can convince Angel to open one of the motherfucking gates?"

"Not if they explain to him their true purpose," Hugo hesitated, "unless they brainwash him."

"Let's pray they don't resort to such measures. A willing, conscious key is what they really need." Chico ceased his rapping. "What about Neun's chauffer?"

"Not a whiff of him either."

"Any intelligence on the idiots who started the brawl at Flaming Peacock?" Chico asked.

"They are not from Juggernaut, apparently they are independents contracted by some still undisclosed third party."

"Great, two more groups and we can have an entities poker game." Chico slammed his hands over the desk as he rose to his feet, a resolute man. "I'm calling Headquarters. They need to comb every motherfucking cave, grotto and bunker within a hundred miles from each gate. Juggernaut can't have Angel too far from them."

Hugo cracked his knuckles. "And I'm gonna torture me some independents."

A river. A raft. Not a Huckleberry Finn style raft but like the one he had made with his brother Zach when they were twelve, with colorful materials flowing in the wind, as if they were ancient sailors. People waved at him from the shore. The river didn't look like the Mississippi, though, and the people's clothes were wrong.

Solid pain radiated from his back, worse than a finger caught under a hammer. Someone threw him out of the raft, the pain didn't let him swim; he was drowning. Other bodies surrounded him in the water, yet they weren't pushing him up to save him but down to end him. He couldn't fight; the river was swallowing him.

Angel gasped and shook his body like a wet dog, keeping his eyes tightly closed. His body trembled with something akin to remorse, and not just from the water he could still feel around him. He hadn't thought of Zach since their mother left because she couldn't stop blaming his father for the death of Angel's twin. Zach never saw his fourteenth birthday, and Angel was a worthless excuse of a brother for not having kept his memory alive.

A beast of a blond man stood facing him with a neon orange bucket in hand as Angel opened his eyes. Apparently, he had just emptied the screaming container over Angel. "Good, you're awake. It was about time."

Hands tied behind him, the wooden high back of the chair pinched his arms. His feet also bound to the legs of the uncomfortable chair, the only thing Angel was able to come up with was, "Fuck you."

The blond Minotaur wore black multi-pocketed cargos and a black wife-beater: standard guerilla outfit (Angel had seen enough movies with bad guys). The top so stretched about his chest, it might explode any second now. He rolled his eyes. "What's your name?" The bastard even smiled, as if they were friends sitting at an open-air café.

"My name is None. Of. Your. Fucking. Business, you filthy dick-breath."

An almost invisible eyebrow arched. "I hope you cooperate. I know your name, I'm just checking if you remember it."

To add insult to injury, Angel wore a pair of boxers that weren't his (he wasn't a boxer man). The fucker(s) had been playing with his goodies (something that he wasn't against to—if he was charging for it), and he was not amused. He thrashed on the chair. No use, he was hurting himself instead.

"Tell me your name, please." The voice came out soothing, with a faint hint of French or maybe Dutch; not evident enough. "I really don't want to start smacking you around, unless I'm forced."

Not much to do when you had hands and feet tied. Time for pragmatism; besides, he needed information as well. "My name is Angel Green, I'm not gonna tell you my social security number."

"Fair enough, just your date of birth." blond Minotaur almost sighed relieved at seeing Angel's cooperation. "To be sure, and we're done."

"Ten, twenty-seven, eighty-nine. Want my solar sign too?" He might be pragmatic but his mouth was dissolute.

"Nah, I know it's Scorpio." The man moved, leaving the bucket on the floor, and retrieved some towels from a locker. He came to Angel and started drying him softly. "Thank you very much. I'm not any more excited at this situation than you are."

"And what is the situation exactly?" He felt like shit because he hadn't even thought about Malachi for a minute since he woke up, or those people who died on the road because of them. "There was a man with me, where is he?"

"Oh, he's being interrogated right now." The mountain of muscles finished his task and threw the towels in a basket forgotten in a corner. "I'm going to untie you, so you can get dressed. You're not going to be restrained again if you behave. _Capish?_ "

So much for Dutch or French.

Angel wasn't little but, beside this beast, he was a toothpick; at least a hundred and ten extra pounds did the talk _and the walk_. "All right, I'll be a good boy." The man started by untying Angel's hands. "What do you want from us?"

"Your boyfriend has information we need, and he's a stubborn shithead. So you might come handy in a few days." The matter-of-factly tone sounded worse than an actual threat.

After rubbing his chafed wrists, Angel touched the weird lump he had felt over his left eyebrow while the asshole boulder was mopping him. He had several staples in place. "What the Heck?"

"You came in with an ugly gash there, so we sealed it." Sideways, the man untied his right foot and, walking behind the chair, moved to work on the left. Apparently, he didn't want to risk a surprise kick or punch. He stood up and patted Angel on the shoulder. "No funny business. Clothes are in that locker."

"If you damage Malachi permanently, you will pay. And I'll make sure each one involved suffers. It might take time but I shall hunt all of you down." Angel growled, balling his fist with narrowed eyes. He wasn't one to make idle threats. He never blustered, and he could be really vindictive.

Hulk tsked, dismissing him. "I'll bring you and your boyfriend supper later." As if without a single care in the world, the massive jailer sauntered to the door, opened it and after a loud bang, left Angel with his thoughts.

Angel took the room in. Spacious but not homely, it seemed more a barrack (with the locker and the metallic bed) than part of a residential place. White, bare walls winked at him, even if they didn't have any windows to play eyes.

He shucked off the borrowed boxer and picked up one of the discarded towels; he dried his cock, balls, and ass crack. He might be here against his will, but that didn't call for having monkey ass later (no one can survive that itch). A swift dunk set the towel back in the hamper.

Where were they, and why did these people assume he was Malachi's boyfriend? Not that he wouldn't want the job, but this was complicated and dangerous.

Hold your horses. Did I just think what I think I thought?

No way was he seeing himself as Malachi's boyfriend. For some unexplained, insane reason he had wanted the astronomer from day one (well, night one), and the man was hot, even if he was around forty (at least). Nevertheless, boyfriend implied mushy feelings that Angel didn't need dangling around him. And yet, every time he remembered those mesmerizing dark eyes and that bald shiny head, each cell of his body demanded Angel to wrap his arms around Malachi's feet with his ass in the air, a mere cat in heat.

The throbbing in his forehead didn't diminish the interest of his cock at the image of the astronomer's muscular body and the nice package Angel had calculated during their little swimming adventure that fateful Sunday morning. Better get clothed and focus on something else; this wasn't the place to choke the chicken.

Pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt awaited him, neatly folded. There were two sets. No underwear. Angel didn't have anything against going commando; he just avoided it when possible. He grabbed the boxer again, squeezed it and left it to dry on the back of the chair he had been captive on. Well, there was no past tense in this captivity situation.

Angel dressed and sat (crossing his legs with his feet under his thighs) on a surprisingly comfortable mattress. With the asylum-style bed and naked walls, he felt in the middle of an old black and white movie. He'd been locked in an old shed (as punishment) enough times for this not to be traumatizing. No matter the ribbons, the trophies, the championships, nothing was ever enough because his father could only see thirteen-year-old Angel kissing another boy, and he would never forgive that. Ironic that missing his brother was exactly what pushed him into exploring the need for a deeper connection with another male. Well, fuck his father and all he had represented. Light helped to deflect the dark memories now.

He recited the state's capitals in alphabetical order backwards five times; then conjured five words starting with each of the twenty-four Greek letters and made sentences with them. By the time he was doing the operation backwards and murmuring an expletive with psi, the door burst open and two goons brought a bruised and bloody Malachi into the room, flung him on the cement floor, and left before Angel could overcome his shock at the wreck before him and attack the assholes.

Malachi's tanned skin had so many hematomas he was basically a giant purple human. Along his chest and legs hundreds of shallow razor cuts seeped, and yellowed plasma crusted around many. How long had they been torturing him? Angel didn't even know how long they had been in this godforsaken place.

With lightning speed, Angel cradled Malachi on his lap, after retrieving both towels to dab over the slashes. "Malachi, can you hear me?"

A moan came out and the body in Angel's arms shuddered. Angel blotted away. "Why don't you tell them what they want? How much pain can you take?"

"Angel?" Malachi groaned and winced, half-opening his eyes.

"I'm here, baby. You're gonna be all right." Angel wiped what looked like tear streaks over dirt, close to Malachi's marred cheeks.

"I was so worried about you." The rasped voice was unsettling. "Every time I asked, they just laughed. Did they hurt you?"

Those last four words pierced the rhino-skin covering Angel's heart and it wept. He couldn't process how Malachi had been worried about him, while suffering such torment himself.

Darn astronomer messing with my armor.

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry this happened to you." Angel put a finger over Malachi's busted lip. "Just tell them."

Malachi ghosted a hand over Angel's face (shuddering and obviously in pain, the stubborn cue-ball) and whispered, "It's not that easy."

The metallic door opened with a bang (what was with these idiots and the explosive door?), and the two goons who brought Malachi entered, one with a table and the other carrying a tray with food by the smell that invaded the musty room. Blond Boulder waited by the entrance, his stupidly thick arms crossed over his chest as if daring Angel to cross the threshold.

"Fucker," Angel hissed and pulled Malachi onto his chest, protecting.

"Blah, he's lucky I don't like the aroma of burned flesh, because the first option was electrocution."

"You've just moved two spots up on my most wanted list."

"Who's number one?"

"Whoever orchestrated this pile of shit."

"Good luck with that." Muscle Mountain shrugged. "I'm going to give your boyfriend two days to recuperate. I like the recipients of my skills in decent conditions so they can appreciate the effort. Pain over pain is not effective." He glanced at one of the goons. "Glock, pick up those bloody towels and bring fresh ones for the lovebirds."

Malachi groaned. Angel rocked him. "Shh, the asshole will be away in a minute. Don't worry about him."

"Okay. You have food, refreshments, and ointments for beat-to-a-pulp lover boy. I dread asking but, do you need anything else?"

"Clean underwear and a rocket launcher." His hiss was dead menacing. For the first time Angel saw something similar to wariness in their jailer's eyes.

Quicker than a blink, the massive dick-breath stood nose to nose with Angel. "Be careful, cutie. You promised to behave. Cross me and your boy will suffer double." He growled and moved back to the entrance, after poking Angel on the staples with a thick finger.

"Son of a bitch." This pathetic excuse of a human being didn't have an idea of how much pain Angel could tolerate; years of abuse made him tough. But there was no reason for a show of force. Yet.

"Please, sweetie," Malachi urged Angel in a hushed tone. "Don't upset our caregiver."

The door closed with its usual bang.

Angel touched Malachi's cheek. "I'll do whatever you ask."

# CHAPTER FIVE

Angel helped him to relieve his bladder in an adjoining bathroom. Malachi did it seated; he didn't have any strength left to stand, much less to aim. A lovely tinge covered those high cheeks as Angel organized body parts.

After leaning on the wall for a second, Angel slid down to sit on the floor, his legs folded toward his chest (seemingly crestfallen) across from where Malachi did his business. The intimacy of the moment didn't escape him. Drained but coherent, Malachi felt immense gratitude for the boy close to him.

Of all the things Malachi had learned before approaching Angel, the fact that the bartender slash go-go boy slash escort was a survivor of child abuse had been one of the many to admire beyond the delicious body and the flashing blue eyes.

Perfect manly eyebrows lay horizontal over narrowed lids; Angel plotted and that would just lead them into more trouble.

"You need to stop."

"I'm not doing anything," Angel responded a little clipped. Then his features softened. "Sorry, Malachi. Shouldn't we be climbing the walls right now?"

"It's best to keep our cool for the moment."

Angel moved his forefinger in the air, encompassing Malachi's figure. "There's nothing cool about this image."

Malachi chuckled; a wince accompanied the soft sound. "Call me _baby_ again."

With a sinuously fluid movement, Angel cut the short distance between them and knelt, touching his forehead to Malachi's. "Baby," came out husky and fervent. "Let me clean you and put some salve on your wounds."

That just needed two letters. "O-K."

Once the painful process of cleansing had been completed amid a torrent of endearments coming from Angel's precious, plump lips, they consumed their food in foreboding silence, sitting on the minute bed. Malachi, clad in pajama bottoms and nothing else, missed the throaty lullaby of Angel's voice.

He wanted to keep Angel talking, but he knew what lurked in the other man's past, so he wouldn't ask about his younger years. Damn his busted lip, they should be necking. That way, talking would be unnecessary.

School was always a safe topic. "You mentioned you had to study Greek and Latin for your career."

Baby blues twinkled gracefully. "Yeah, both languages come easily to me. Like a second nature." The sweet smile mesmerized Malachi.

Fuck his broken fleshy bitch, Malachi needed that mouth now or he would simply explode. "C'mere."

Such a good thing one only waited an hour after eating when planning to swim.

This would be a completely different kind of exercise.

The kiss tasted like Coke, roasted chicken and blood.

And it was glorious.

Only the fear of injuring Malachi further restrained Angel from throwing himself completely into the abyss the astronomer had summoned. He was on all fours over Malachi, using just his mouth with all his might to convey the desperation in his intention.

"This sucks," Angel blurted as he broke their kiss.

Malachi snickered. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No. You're perfect." And Angel was talking about more than the kissing. "I'm dying to hold you properly, squeeze you, grab things."

"And who's stopping you?"

"A thousand cuts," Angel summarized.

"Do I disgust you?" Malachi's eyes opened as much as their bruised surroundings permitted. Puzzlement twinkled in the dark depths.

Angel confessed, sighing, "You'd never. Even as purpled as you are at the moment."

"Maybe if you maul me some more, we could have more than 48 hours of respite."

"That's so wrong, baby." Angel buzzed Malachi and tasted more blood. "I reopened your lip already. There's nothing vampiric in me to be enjoying your blood and yet, because it's yours it's thrilling."

Malachi affected some kind of ominous accent. "Ah, little vampyr, try me—try me." He snickered more. In a normal voice, he singsonged, "I bet someone likes his steak rare."

"Actually, it's well done, thank you very much." It was Angel's turn to laugh.

His knees on either side of Malachi's lean hips, Angel trembled when strong hands pulled down his pajama bottoms and caressed his smooth cheeks.

"You're so fucking hot."

That was a lot better. It irked Angel to no end those _cute_ and _adorable_ monikers. "Likewise, big guy."

Lowering his chest so they could kiss while Malachi kneaded his ass, Angel moaned. A hard tongue gave a supreme lecture in sweeping and conquering within the confines of his mouth. Goose bumps covered ninety percent of his skin. The other ten percent was either hard and ready or numb with excitement.

Malachi finished mastering Angel's lips. "I'm dying to taste you." He pulled Angel's hips toward his face.

Oh...

The first lick took Angel by surprise (even if he had been aware of every movement), and he felt his bones melt as Malachi laved the sensitive underside of his throbbing head.

Steered by his ass cheeks, Angel found his cock sweetly ensconced in velvet warmth before he could react to his lack of reciprocation. He groaned and stared at Malachi. "We should sixty-nine."

Full of cock, Malachi only nodded, the low relief of his broken lip brushed Angel's shaft sending new waves of pleasure.

Angel maneuvered his limbs carefully avoiding the poking of Malachi's bruised body. A good thing the worst damage was frontal. Now, the bald head rested between his knees, and Angel removed the material covering his prize. Chunky and engorged, the uncut beast begged for attention.

It was childish, but Angel couldn't stifle a snicker at the insane amount of foreskin still covering Malachi's cock even with the man at full mast (it reminded him of the snout of an aardvark). Before Angel attained full silly-mode and ruined the moment, Malachi seized Angel's cock and plunged it into a wet welcoming cavity, short-circuiting the Heck out of his already fogged brain.

All scattered, Angel only understood the primal urge to have Malachi in his mouth, and savor and claim and lose himself. He helped the concealed morsel to emerge with his lips, and the flavor (and the fragrance) dispelled the few remnants of his certainly altered wits.

A thick finger breached Angel's hole. Angel accepted then that he'd lost the meager options of control over his body. The only resemblance of consciousness within kept telling him not to let his weight go and hurt Malachi. Beyond that, he became a writhing mass of lust, blind and deaf.

Malachi added more pressure with a second digit and used both as lever, first to revere Angel's prostate using relentless strokes, and second to steer him lower and give throat massages to a burning, hyper-sensitive cock.

His own tongue swirled around the massive uncut rod, his head bobbing and twisting since he had most of his upper weight propped on two hands; dying hands, because they couldn't explore the expanse of skin around him, so close and yet so far.

Angel would have given anything to have this moment under different circumstances—when they weren't in danger in who knew what forsaken corner of the world. Perhaps with death upon their heads, but he wasn't going to let these fucked up conditions botch his joy.

Erratic hip thrusts filtered through his impeded awareness to alert him of Malachi's upcoming orgasm. The notion of a job well-done made him proud and triggered his own release. His first spurt ignited the astronomer's spark, and soon he swallowed thick ropes of uncannily sugary seed. Angel convulsed in the last throes of ecstasy and fell sideways with enough sense not to smash Malachi, but jerking his cock from the blessed mouth abruptly.

His fellatio-induced coma perceived chuckling, and it was coming from far away (like around his calves). Angel found that place in his brain to activate speech. "What's so funny?"

The body beside him trembled, simulating a mini earthquake and almost throwing him from the not-so-spacious-and-yet-comfortable bed. Angel kept his irresponsive body afloat with a hand splayed on the cement floor. "Seriously, can a man not bask in his afterglow quietly?"

They were nearing seven on the Ritcher Scale when Angel landed butt first on the rough ground. Consciousness, Alertness, Senses and all those other things one uses to wade through life came crashing on him like a pile of bricks. He didn't know whether to be furious or amused, because their present condition was anything but laughable. Considering that Lust had taken a hike, everything returned to gloom, doom and fucked. Yeah, furious should be the appropriate response.

"Care to explain such an exotic display of amusement? Most people need a cigarette after sex. Fits of laughter? That's a new one even for me." Angel pulled up his pajama bottoms and crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at Malachi.

"Oh, baby..." Malachi's trembling subsided.

"Don't you dare call me adorable." Angel waved a finger at the cue-ball. "I feel murderous, and I've got a scraped butt."

Malachi put both hands up, fighting another burst of laughter (unconvincingly enough). "I'm sorry, Angel. I'd have choked on that tasty piece of Kielbasa if I'd been using teeth when you yanked it from my mouth. And the whole idea of choking on cock and the faces of those bastards when they found us dead, you bled out and me, well...." He started cackling this time.

Twisted B horror movie witticism: The goons would end up with nothing, and they'd have been gone with a blast (or a splat in Angel's case).

Angel allowed a tiny bit of mirth to surface. He knelt close to Malachi's face. "You look wonderful when you laugh." Angel wasn't exactly sure why that confession squeezed this heart. Nevertheless, the force of the crush liberated something within him.

"Punching-bag-faced and everything?"

"Sexy in a fucked up heavyweight-championship-meet-and-greet-after-party way." Angel snickered softly.

"You're not a welterweight yourself." Malachi caressed Angel's face.

"Cruiserweight champion, my last year of high school." Angel leaned into the touch and did not resist when pride tried to warn him. "Also, blue ribbon in several shooting competitions."

"My, my... I'll keep that in mind." A steady thumb traced his lower lip. "C'mere."

Scooting his bruised body back, Malachi guided Angel to lie sideways, facing him, by a strong hand on the back of his neck. Their lips touched, and the bolt went in two directions, one to Angel's cock and the other to his hand so he could grab Malachi's progressively hardening, nice chunky aardvark.

This time they found completion stroking each other and devouring their mouths. Fuck their dreaded situation. Angel wanted Malachi inside him.

Would it be too much to ask the frigging jailers for some condoms?

"I do need a cigarette." Malachi pulled him back when Angel tried to leave the bed to find something to clean them. "Let housekeeping clear the mess."

They wiped their hands as best they could, using bed sheets, and stayed there looking at the ceiling (and its ugly halogen lamps), fingers entwined.

"I'm glad we're together. We gonna get through this." Malachi clutched Angel's hand.

"Yes, we will."

As bliss dissipated, Angel remembered Malachi had caught him plotting his revenge. Good-bye archeology and welcome Marine Corps. He had discipline, he had dead good aim; he'd be a darn good sniper.

# CHAPTER SIX

Propped on his elbow, Malachi studied the contours of Angel's back. The boy was soundly asleep, and if Malachi's calculations were correct, no one would disturb them for at least two or three hours.

Thanks to the accelerated regenerative ointment, the thousand cuts were gone and most of the purple was out of the way too. No torturer worth his salt overdid it, but he didn't harbor any illusions, soon he would be the punching bag of the fucking blond bastard again, and the man was enjoying the job a little too much.

For the time being, he would be able to make love in a more skin to skin fashion and pour all the need he felt into crushing embraces made of impenetrable closeness. Every second he spent with Angel imprisoned here, the lie became harder to wield. He knew he was fucked the second he dived into those baby blues near the ocean, with the rising sun giving new life to Angel's marvelous features.

Malachi had never blown a cover; he had too much pride to let severe physical pain or fleeting emotions impact his performance, and yet, each of Angel's kisses sucked his innate pragmatism out of him. The longer they stayed within these four walls, the closer he was to lose his north.

Resting half his upper body over Angel's pale, almost rosy back, he brought the limp arm hanging from the bed up. Angel moaned. Malachi couldn't be sure if it was because of the weight or the change of his dangling limb. He kissed the short hair on the back of the strong neck and pulled the sleeping body flush to his chest.

"Ouch, my arm is dead." Angel winced, turning his head to face Malachi. "Hey, be careful with your cuts."

"They are gone. Let me have you like this, while I can."

"Wow, you only have a little black left under your eye." Angel shifted to look back into their cell and scooted back so his ass was heavenly nestled in Malachi's groin.

Damn pajama bottoms.

"I like this," Angel murmured, content.

Malachi's hand coasted the smooth flank and settled over Angel's hip, just there, basking in the warmth coming from the thinly covered skin. "You deserve a better moment. You have no idea how sorry I am."

"How could you know something like this would happen?" Angel caressed Malachi's cheek as he turned again.

They lay crotch to crotch now, and it was perfect. Thank the goddess for his poker face. "Yeah..."

"You think it'd be too much to ask housekeeping for condoms and lube? I really want to go all the way." Angel spoke with narrowed eyes, not a whiff of playfulness in his tone. More like someone planning a suicidal escape; although, his consistent grinding hinted of very specific things, _the little death_ perhaps.

The idea of any of them inside the other was enough to break his straight face, Malachi swallowed hard. "Nothing wrong with asking." He grabbed Angel's cock and gave it a tug. "So we save it to see if we're granted that mercy?"

Baby blues flashed wickedly. "Smother me with kisses." Angel dragged Malachi bodily and planted him on top, between his legs, their hard cocks and taut balls snuggling. "I've needed your weight on me since forever."

"Is that so?"

Angel grabbed Malachi's ass and ground their bodies together. "So much astronomer, so little time."

Such familiarity rendered Malachi almost witless. "Goddess, you're..."

A loud clap exploded as Angel smacked Malachi's left ass cheek. "Cute and Adorable are forbidden in this kingdom for the next six months."

Something inside Malachi's chest flip-flopped; Angel wanted him around. He murmured though, "Only six months?"

"Just a starting number." Angel winked and smooched him fast. "Close season will be extended in direct proportion to your behavior."

Separating their bodies, Malachi turned Angel's legs sideways and caressed the sweet curve of those steel globes. He lowered the white fabric and wetted his forefinger and traced the digit over intimate puckered flesh. "Is this good or bad behavior?"

A moan escaped and goose bumps sprouted over Angel's legs and butt. "Oh fuck." He closed his eyes and hissed, "I don't know yet."

"I can give you more facts." The fingertip encountered no resistance as it moved softly around the opening of the creamy passage, not conquering, just teasing and gauging Angel's responses. And what a fine response those mewling sounds were.

Malachi moved to crouch beside the bed, still linked to a writhing Angel by one digit, using the other hand to pull Angel's cock and balls back between those magnificent legs. _A glorious view._ The horizontal smorgasbord tempted him like not many things had in his life.

"Please, Malachi..."

His taste buds degusted maddening fluids, and Malachi continued his journey lengthwise the engorged shaft with a thorough stop on a hairless sac. His finger maintained its post on the scorching rosebud, and Malachi took possession of a meaty cheek to install his roaming tongue along for the final assault.

Spread and probed, Angel uttered incompressible sounds, encouraging Malachi and squirming delightfully. Malachi didn't have another option than to burrow his face amid heavenly buns and nurture the leaking cock with determined strokes.

A bang broke their reverie, and his blond torturer entered, arched brow and sarcastic smirk. "Well, well, someone knows how to _kill_ time."

"Motherfucker." the huff seemed more coming from a bull ready to charge than from a boy with a man's mouth on his hole a minute before.

Malachi pulled Angel's pajama bottoms up to cover the precious jewels from unworthy eyes. Angel did a lightning shift and sat, facing the intruder, his eyes like incandescent bullets ready to be fired.

"There's no other way to open that door than with a fucking wham?" The growl was more like the Angel Malachi was used to.

"It's really fun to startle you, boy." The man gave Angel a downright leer.

"We need clean sheets, we made a mess," Malachi stated in a casual tone to diffuse the volcanic vibes emanating from Angel.

The go-go boy looked at him, perplexed, and snicker-snorted.

Thank the goddess.

"Why, of course, sir; your chambermaid will be here in a minute to retrieve them and bring a complimentary bowl of condoms." Any more sour and the idiot would be a rotten meal.

Malachi shrugged. "And fresh fruit. We need fresh fruit too."

Angel shook his head, rested his brow on Malachi's left shoulder, folding the rest of his upper body over him, and sighed in an almost amused tone, "I swear to God, I'm gonna murder that colorless hulk."

"Now, now." Malachi patted Angel. "The big guy is just probably a naughty voyeur, was watching us on a monitor and decided to be closer to the action."

This comment fathered two reactions. Angel tensed again and lifted his face slowly, every bit of skin touching Malachi screaming _I'm gonna jump the bastard_. The goon on the other hand, blanched comically, except for his cheeks that went furiously red. "I didn't do such a thing," he blurted, more mortified than offended.

"So you have cameras or not?" Angel barked, preparing himself to lunge.

"There are no cameras here, baby. I was just egging this sad excuse of a pain-bearer." Malachi grabbed Angel's wrist to keep him in place.

"You know, I came here, out of the kindness of my black heart, to give you twenty-four more hours of respite and to convince your boyfriend to make you talk." The blond crossed his massive arms over his chest and cocked his head. "Since you are already healed, I'm considering taking you for another ride this instant." He took a step toward them.

"NO." Angel almost broke Malachi's wrist trying to jerk away from his grip. "You can't do that, you promised forty-eight hours."

The torturer did a very unmanly and sassy lift of shoulders. "What's the word of a scourger?"

"Even the dirtiest scum has some sense of honor somewhere within," Angel spat. "I'll make him talk. You catch more with honey than with vinegar."

"Yeah, and this Winnie the Pooh had his face on the honey pot." the man did an eye-roll, accompanied by a circle in the air with his finger toward Malachi. "Sure, why not? I'll send better food, condoms, and lube. Maybe your _ass_ can do the _trick_."

Before Angel could say something else, Malachi pulled him forcefully onto his lap and covered that pretty pouty mouth with his hand. "Thanks."

With a nod, the mountain turned and crossed the threshold. Another resounding bang signaled they were locked in again.

"Are you aware that in ancient times the warriors were always hard when about to do battle?" Malachi whispered into Angel's ear and squeezed his seriously engorged cock.

Angel moved his head sideways (eyes narrowed) and hissed, "Shut up."

Hugo studied the chateau. Well, in Italy they called it a villa. Damn Umbrians had to discover a fucking gate and then fight to the death with the even more damn Romans.

Chico had sent him with this unit so Angel could have a friendly face around. The poor boy must be overwhelmed and scared shitless. They would have to break it to Angel; at least that would help him be aware of his surroundings if he survived this stint. Hugo had never lost a charge, and he wasn't planning on letting this LE be his first.

Without any other option than doing this in plain daylight, they'd better get moving fast or it would be too late. According to a chatty cleaning girl, who allegedly fucked one of the guards of the villa, the two Americans they had in custody would be moved to another location in a couple of days. Why the forefathers of all guidos had to be such braggers? Hugo had no idea, but in this case it had been to their advantage.

He gave the signal to the camouflage-clad man to his right. Of the twenty-man unit, ten were excellent snipers armed with tranquilizing darts, and they all carried painful rubber bullets. This wasn't to be a massacre, and when you don't have jurisdiction, a pile of bodies is not good PR. Wrapped in Kevlar up to their asses, they were ready to face their enemies' live ammo.

The hunk beside Hugo did a circle movement with his finger, and he admired the blazing grey eyes. Hugo had a thing for blond men, and if everything went according to plan, he and Snyder would be fucking the living daylights out of each other later that night, when they did their pit stop in Paris.

All the outside guards crumbled simultaneously as the snipers did their thing. Grey eyes flashed mischievously at him, and with a nod, they sprang into action.

We're coming Angel, be brave.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

Trash-ass Hulk made good on his offer and sent everything as promised and (in an interesting twist) also: underwear, decent-fitting khakis, and not-completely-unfortunate T-shirts. No shoes or socks, though. Maybe he thought that if escape was accomplished, they couldn't go too far barefooted. Big mistake.

They ate a sumptuous breakfast (it had to be morning somewhere) and rested for a while, side by side, caressing each other and necking like high school boys under the bleachers.

"Would you stop being so stubborn and tell them what they want?"

"It's not that easy."

Angel felt like swatting Malachi on the back of his head. "Why not?"

Malachi stroked Angel's belly, tracing circles around his navel and dangerously close to a cock that was eager to participate in the festivities.

"If you grab my cock to shut me up, I swear to God..."

"Why would I do that?" And yet Malachi chuckled, his scheme discovered.

"What is it that they need?"

"I can't tell you. You're safer in the darkness."

"I spent a lot of time alone _in the darkness_ in my past. What I need right now is light, open spaces and the fucking truth. Something doesn't add up here, and I have a nagging suspicion this has to do with me as much as it has to do with you."

The wandering hand stroked his hip, and Angel growled. Malachi withdrew the offender. "You're wrong. This shit-trip only relates to one of us."

Soft lips covered Angel's, and Malachi kissed him so thoroughly (not just with his mouth but grinding their dicks and kneading his ass) that when Angel was able to breathe again, he didn't remember in what Anno Domini he was living.

Fuck the Common Era, I love my AD.

What was I asking the cue-ball?

As his scattered wits rallied to make him focus, he discovered Malachi standing beside the bed. "Come let's take a shower."

All the snails traveling with the commands finally reached his muscles, and Angel wobbled into Malachi's arms. Maybe there was something in the food because he didn't feel like himself anymore. Well, he had never been kiss-fucked before, right? Perhaps that was it, just a mind-clouding afterglow.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so." Angel answered not truly convinced, as they entered the bathroom. "Why are you putting me on the tub already, you're not gonna run the water first?"

"You didn't notice yesterday? The water is never cold here."

Angel was too worried about Malachi's condition to be paying attention to water temperature, but that little detail snapped him out of his daze. This meant they were held somewhere warm.

Oh, Toto, where the fuck are we? Surely not Kansas.

Fingers, pecks and water poured around him, and he was on his way to Tingleville, Hornia when Angel realized he needed to stop being a passive receiver and start giving. He turned Malachi around and slammed him against the wall, biting a shoulder and cupping a hard ass cheek.

"I hope you have enough teeth to conquer where your hand is." Malachi groaned, angling the small of his wide back upward.

Fuck, Angel was always ready for a good challenge. He rubbed the secret gape between those rocky globes, and his mouth descended, incisors and canines multiplied to the tenth power.

The more he bit, the louder Malachi became, and what a colossal turn on the rumbling was.

Teeth stopped their assault. Crouched at eye level with healthy tanned Gluteus Maximus, Angel studied the beautiful tattoo adorning Malachi's right cheek: no longer than his pinky, a circle flanked by opposing crescents, the moon in its first and last quarter.

_Maid. Mother. Crone._ Since he met Malachi and heard about the pentagram and the goddess, Angel had done his homework and learned about other imageries. At close inspection (and he was seriously close, at licking distance, mind you), the tattoo was not made of lines but intricate filigree.

It reminded him of rice painting, so complete and delicate. For some reason the water sloshing down his face wouldn't let him discern, Jealousy reared her stupid face, waggling her bifid tongue. Someone must have spent an obnoxious amount of time creating this masterpiece over the prize-winning glute, and that didn't sit right in Angel's gut.

Malachi grabbed the back of Angel's head and smashed him between granite ass cheeks. "Bite there."

He could do that, immerse himself in flesh and forget this unnecessary ache. His name might be Angel but he hadn't been one. Then why the idea of another man near Malachi suddenly irked him to no end?

Spreading stone muscle, he did as ordered for a minute or two, Malachi undulating over his face.

A resolution came to him; Angel spun Malachi around, took possession of the thick cock screaming for attention and gulped.

Perhaps, choking for a while would take his head to a better place.

"Son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry, Chico. It must have been a decoy. They knew we were canvassing the area and offered a temptation."

Snyder pumped Hugo's dick with his eighteen-wheeler of a fist and a wicked gleam in his grey eyes. Hugo sucked in breath as Chico cursed across the pond.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I hit my hip with the dresser, thanks to you."

Hugo heard Chico punching keys; he yelled triumphantly, "Aha! There is a fucking blond beast in that unit—George Snyder. He's between your legs, isn't he?"

A grunt escaped Hugo.

Chico's shudder came clearly through the line. "Don't answer that. Just stay in France. They ought to have Angel somewhere in Europe. No point in you coming back yet."

"Damn, Chico. You're not just a bossy boss but an inveterate snoop." He chortled, not completely sure if it was because he knew Chico's nosiness came from a good place, or due to Snyder's sandpapered tongue along his inner thigh. "I'll keep it kosher, Chico." Hugo rolled his eyes; Snyder had taken possession of his dick-head with that pretty sexy mouth of his.

"I'm pretty sure that meal is not rabbi-approved. No, I don't wanna know. Just keep me posted." Chico ended the conversation with another audible shudder.

"Bad Snyder." Hugo swatted the blond mercenary-with-a-cause on the top of his head. "You couldn't wait five minutes?"

"Your insatiable disposition for blonds is legendary among the arms-for-hire. Chemicals had been involved to gain your graces." Snyder held Hugo's dick by the base like a microphone in the middle of a televised interview.

"A wasted effort, I assure you. If the carpet doesn't match the drapes, I know it's a ruse."

"Anyone would think trained men would be smarter in such matters." Snyder chuckled and then lapped from base to head.

As much as Hugo found the man with the expert tongue incredibly attractive, his head wasn't in it tonight. All the excitement of their encounter had been deflated by their failed attempt to rescue Angel.

Hugo had kept an eye on that boy since the kid was seven years old, a constant guardian to keep Juggernaut at bay. With every victory of Angel, Hugo's heart had sung, pride swelling inside him like a content parent instead of an obscure protector. He cried with Angel when his twin brother died in that boat accident, becoming a silent shadow at the cemetery. Every time Angel's father had abused the poor thing physically and mentally just to lock him away in a shed, closer to a dog house than a place to store things, Hugo had gone insane with thoughts of murder and mayhem. Only restrained by his duty to observe from a distance and prevent contact with those who would use Angel to unleash something worse than the proverbial Pandora's Box.

Many times, Hugo had considered naming Angel's father a minion of Juggernaut just to have an excuse to dispatch him and relieve Angel of his tormentor. But that wasn't the way, everything happened for a reason, and Angel needed such a childhood to be the man he was today. Each good thing in Angel had come from surviving that darkness, and Hugo greatly respected his charge's strength for that.

Still, Hugo couldn't resist the temptation and gave the SOB parent a swift visit during a moonless night, while Angel was away in a boxing competition, during his last year of high school. He made it clear for the man that a very painful death would be his if he didn't let Angel go as soon as he was legal, making it appear his own fabulous idea.

"Earth to Hotness," Snyder murmured, their faces inches apart.

When did he move?

"Oh, hey," Hugo offered, mesmerized by Snyder's platinum eyes. "I'm sorry. The kid is really important to me, not just a target."

"I can see." Thick fingers caressed Hugo's cheek with surprising tenderness. "Let's have our moment, Hugo. There are computers and satellites and people looking for him. Right this second, we can't do much more than wait until he's located. It's not that they're going to kill him. They need him alive and willing."

"True." Hugo grabbed Snyder's ass and pulled him down, allowing the weight of the other man to crush him and make him forget his uneasiness regarding Angel's wellbeing. "I am to remain in France until he is found."

"Then, _mon chéri_ , I'll stay in France with you until you kick me to the curb." Snyder offered waggling his eyebrows.

Hugo riposted with a straight face, "I'm insatiable, not stupid."

They laughed riotously, and then trashed the room with their sexual acrobatics, until hotel security politely invited them to seek accommodations in less respectable parts of the city. Which, of course, they were happy to oblige.

"Countess Tau, we have Martan Kovak on secure line four," her assistant informed with just his head floating inside the office.

How many times had she told the lackey to stop using the door as shield? It's not like she threw things at him every time he was in her presence. Mostly.

She picked the antique receiver and dialed four. They'd tried to tell her they cannot use old fashioned phones for modern purposes. They had figured it out, hadn't they?

"Countess Tau." Kovak's gruff voice insulted her ear.

She lashed out, "I know who I am. To the point, Kovak."

Something similar to a muffled growl preceded Kovak's exposure, "The target is on his way and we have everything prepared. By next full moon, he'll be prepped and ready to open the second gate."

Tau arched an eyebrow and traced a line with her long crimson nail over the glass covering her immense rosewood desk. Perhaps Nine wasn't a complete waste of resources. "You'd better be sure of what you're talking about. If I go there to perform the ceremony, and that go-go dancer is not compliant, I'm going to eat yours and Nine's heads dipped in white chocolate."

"It will be an honor, _milady_."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Kovak." She rapped her fingernails against the glass. "Why hasn't Nine reported?"

"He's otherwise occupied, _your highness_."

"Even the best agents can be replaced, Kovak." She wanted to bark but simply snapped at him.

"I'm absolutely aware of that option, _exalted countess_."

"Enough. Next time I want to hear Nine's voice, not yours."

"Of course, _your..._ "

Tau hung up the receiver. Just because they'd fucked, when she was a young and naïve girl and he was exploring his sexuality, that didn't give the bastard the right to talk to her like they were equals. She rather deal with Nine, at least he was a sodding knight.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

"What are we supposed to do with just 3 condoms?" Angel blurted, after discovering the twelve-pack was severely incomplete.

"Lesser mortals have dealt with less and enjoyed the ride." Malachi chuckled, shaking his head.

"That's not the point. It's the principle. If you give me a box that says twelve units, I'm expecting a dozen penetrations!"

Malachi took the offensive package and rattled it like a maraca. "The sounds of a good time."

A loud snort was Angel's only response. He was still wrapped in one of those fluffy towels they had been given after the truce. Malachi unwrapped his and walked to the bed to get the lube bottle, giving Angel ample time to appreciate the goodies.

They had done their fair share of foreplay, time to engage in penile penetrative acts, and Malachi knew which cock was going exactly where.

Back in front of a hazy-eyed Angel, Malachi dropped to his knees and unfolded the white barrier deterring him from relishing his prize. Angel was already semi-hard and let escape a throaty sound, as Malachi kissed the mushroom head of the perking cock.

His tongue swirled, and he sensed the tremor in Angel's body. He opened his eyes to goose bumps on fairly hairless thighs. On their own volition, his hands mapped the solid terrain, the sweet expanse of creamy and yet rocky skin, hypnotized by the Devil's horns that ended in a curly thatch of darkness. The tip of his nose tried the consistency of silky, freshly washed pubes, and this wicked tickle was Malachi's undoing.

Angel clawed Malachi's shoulders, seemingly enraptured by the throat closing around him, taking advantage of the natural, downward curve of his member. And Malachi used that fleeting moment of hesitation to grab steel glutes and transform Angel into a sudden piston, savoring the moving inches within him.

"Sweet baby Jesus," came out strangled and breathless from the lips Malachi had been ravishing for hours before this devotional moment.

He didn't have enough hands, eyes, ears or mouths to satisfy the fervent hunger ignited by Angel; the overwhelming force swallowing him, every time Malachi was lost in the textures of the man he was so willingly on his knees for.

The craving to offer everything Malachi was to Angel started to overrule his better judgment and the disturbing consequences his mission bore. He only had one path to follow, but, at this time, his journey was along Angel's body and wherever Desire would care to lead them.

Multitasking came handy as Malachi continued the pleasure his mouth was giving Angel, and he reached the pack of condoms, drew one and opened it. The damn thing was transparent blue, nearly the same color of those big lakes on Angel's face.

Almost against his will, he let go of the lengthy delight. Angel groaned and stared down at him.

"If we only have one shot at this, I want you to be the one inside me and take that memory with me. No matter what happens afterward, you made me yours." Malachi rolled the condom by sheer tact since his vision was summarily occupied gauging all the changing emotions on the cherubic, chiseled features.

"I usually don't..." Angel dithered.

"Please." Malachi didn't recognize the voice but understood the urge blooming inside him.

Angel caressed Malachi's stubbly chin and nodded. "Anything you want." He pulled Malachi to his feet and guided him to the bed, softly pushing him to lie on his back. "I need to see your eyes, so dark... so rich, I can lose myself in them."

A low rumble, Angel's deep voice fathered a thousand chills and infinite more goose bumps over Malachi's body. Dizziness tried to stake her claim but Malachi fought, anchoring his focus on cherry lips that would soon master his own.

Hard like a spear, Angel's cock shone enveloped in translucent latex, making Malachi's mouth water; a beast recalling a fabulous meal.

While Angel slicked the weapon, Malachi found the courage to beg. "Don't prep me. This must hurt. The pain will give me strength, if I have to go through torture again."

"Stubborn ass," Angel hissed, narrowing his eyes and aiming his sheathed head to Malachi's hole.

And the sting brought bliss, inebriating him.

And bliss became unfathomable ecstasy, incendiary euphoria.

As he came, the Earth literally moved.

Angel knew this had been different, not just because he'd been the top, but for all the things he saw on Malachi's eyes (when his weren't rolled inside his head, that was).

Malachi dismounted him. "This is serious. Get dressed." He started gathering clothes and throwing them in Angel's direction. "Now!"

The shaking continued as Angel unsteadily figured out where to put legs and arms. The door to their cell got unhinged. Malachi grabbed his wrist. "Our opportunity to flee, c'mon."

They ran through a corridor, so normal looking (except for the fact that the walls were shaking), it could have been anywhere, and nobody was in sight. Taking a turn, they found the goon they only knew as Glock running in their direction but looking the other way, a weapon in his hand. Malachi growled, "You didn't, motherfucker." He punched Glock square on the face as soon as the man tried to see forward.

With a thud and a broken nose, Glock fell, and Malachi grabbed the weapon and patted the pockets, finding car keys and a fat wallet.

"Are we gonna look for the blond oaf?" Angel seriously wanted to punch that fucker too. It didn't matter if the building was crumbling around them.

A big smile graced his cue-ball. "Not the moment for that, baby. Let's survive this fucking earthquake, and you can have you vengeance later."

Angel nodded and let Malachi lead the way. As long as he could get even someday, he'd run for his life now.

Outside, it was morning. To their left a paddock with 3 horses running around scared, neighing and snorting, and to their right a man under a tree (as if Angel had conjured the darn blond brute). "Shit, we need to help him." He wanted the man suffering at his hands, not dying under a fallen trunk. He realized in that moment, he hadn't picked really bad vibes from their jailer; the man was just annoying as fuck.

"NO." Malachi pulled him on the opposite direction, toward the horses. "What if he has a weapon and shoots us?"

"B-but?" It didn't feel right to leave the man like that; he seemed unconscious.

"Nobody dies before their time, Angel. Today's not his day." Malachi jumped the paddock and approached a horse. The ground had decided to stop shaking, so the horses were a little calmer. "Can you ride?"

"Hey, even hillbillies like me know their way around horses." Angel swiftly mounted a black beauty and kicked, "Hyah!" They galloped to the other end of the paddock, and like well-trained creatures both horses jumped.

They maintained the same fleeting speed for at least half an hour. The bad thing about riding saddleless was the torturing of your balls and guiding the horse pulling his mane. Angel liked some hair pulling (at the right moment) but thirty minutes of that was too much even for an equine.

A cluster of trees invited them, the shadowy embrace welcomed since the sun had reached its zenith. "I don't think we're in America." Angel commented, hoping he could materialize a cold gallon of water.

"Some people would give us a clue." Malachi dismounted, Angel did likewise, and both horses sprinted away, neighing wildly as if stung by African Bees. Malachi sighed, "So much for transport."

"I bet they didn't like the hair pulling." Angel tried to make light of their situation, in any case they were outside, which was a start.

"That's why I shave my head." Malachi waggled his eyebrows.

"You ass." Angel was going to add a comment about big old screaming bottoms with shaved heads and decided against it. He expected Malachi to (at minimum) be versatile, if he remembered their pre coitus conversation correctly without all the horny mind-clogging. "If we are where I think we are, we should go east where probably any major city would be located." Best to remain focused. "Shame we didn't see the car for those keys."

"Yeah, let me check the wallet." Malachi found two gold cards and one platinum, a ton of hundred euro bills and a picture of Glock holding a baby, not old enough to discern if it was a boy or a girl though.

"That makes the idiot human." Angel growled, the image of the blond Hulk under the tree hitched in his head.

"And yet not less of a motherfucker." Malachi stared at Angel. "He'll be fine, it was just a broken nose."

"Throw a concussion and a shaking house falling over him and you have the whole picture." Angel grumbled. It's not like they shot the bastards, acts of God couldn't be considered murder, right? "What did he do to you, apart from being a minion of that obnoxious Yellow Boulder? You punched him like it was personal."

Malachi drew the gun from the small of his back. "This Beretta was a gift from my father on my seventeenth birthday, a few months before he died. That bitch shouldn't have been running with it."

"If he didn't have it in hand, you wouldn't have it now."

An eyebrow arched, and Malachi looked as if Angel had just punched him on the kisser. In the sun and with birds chirping happily around them, thoughts of vengeance were starting to fade. Then again, that always happened to him when he was able to be in the light, darkness becoming just a dissolving memory.

Angel studied the terrain, rocky with no visible mountains, mostly randomly situated shrubs. They heard a bell tolling. "Sounds like a church."

"It's coming from that way. Let's go." Malachi pointed to their left, his features brightening after the mental shocker.

Barefoot and hungry (their breakfast had been several hours before the darn earthquake), they reached a hill with an ancient church on the top when their feet were ready to burst. "Do you think it's proper to enter a sacred place all fucked up and sweaty?"

A cloudless blue sky melting into an even bluer ocean lay beyond the minute structure, leaving Angel mesmerized.

"In our circumstances, we don't have another option. Besides, it appears the bells were for the end of the mass, not the beginning. The church is closed, and these tire and shoe marks indicated passive departure."

"We were too far," Angel huffed. Bad enough he'd never learned to be a tracker. The ground was appropriately dusty to have a clear view of footprints and wheels, but he couldn't figure back from forward.

What appeared to be the front entrance had a big billboard to one side. Fortunately, it had information in both English and another language that, although was written with Latin characters had too many dashes, double consonants, and diacritical marks not to be a Latinization of an Arabic language. "Do you have an idea of what language would that be?"

"We're either in Malta or Merhba. That's Maltese."

Malta was far from the continent, not good. Merhba on the other hand was an enclave in Sicily facing Malta; another principality (just a little bigger than Monaco) that was recently included into the Euro Zone. Although Sicily was an island too, if they could reach Messina, there was a ferry that could take them to the main land in less than half an hour. Angel had fantasized about backpacking through Europe, even before he discovered he wanted to be an archeologist that he knew many random facts like this by heart. What a fucked up time to be close to the core of his archeological dreams.

"And how do you know this?" Angel was a little miffed because he was the one supposed to know all about Europe, but it never crossed his mind to find out what written Maltese looked like.

"My maternal grandparents were Maltese. Now and then I try to keep up with the language."

How convenient. Nothing until this moment had made Angel's hair stand up on the back of his neck. Perhaps their messed up situation had to do with Malachi's heritage, but that still didn't explain why Angel felt like a key piece more than an observant dragged into the melee. "I'd like to learn more about that later." Angel grimaced.

"Of course. I'll tell you all about my summers in Malta." Malachi offered with a smile, which didn't ease Angel's wariness.

Since they didn't know what day of the week it was, they couldn't calculate if another mass was imminent. They walked toward the edge of the cliff to check if there was an office or something. This was an old place, probably had some tourist attraction to it.

Close to another (more battered-looking) door they found an inscription:

NON GODE L'IMMUNITA' ECCLESIASTICA

Angel did know the meaning of the sign. "Well, isn't this nice?"

Malachi took Angel's hand and squeezed it. "What is it?"

"We'd have been screwed even in medieval times. You know how churches were sanctuaries where the authorities couldn't touch you?"

Malachi nodded. "Sure, why?"

"This one didn't have that."

Shaking his head Malachi, chuckled. "Should we take it as a bad omen?"

"I don't believe in such shit. Evil is in the heart of men. Let's do some breaking and entering. They must have a phone or a computer in here."

"You going to B&E a church?"

Angel was positive karma existed, but bad omens, nah. Then every single thing in the news would be a bad omen, because the world was going to Hell in a hand basket.

Taking the weapon from Malachi, Angel broke a window panel. "Sure. They're supposed to help those in need."

# CHAPTER NINE

From: angelus_viridi_102789@epistola.com

To: hugo_fox@septimaluna.net

Subject: Alive & Kickin'

Date: Undisclosed

I know you've been worried sick, but I'm fine and doing my best to be home quickly. No need to put me on a milk carton yet. :)

I'm with Malachi, but it isn't what you think.

The less you know the better off you are.

I'll get in touch again as soon as possible

Hugs

Angel.

"Did you locate the origin of this email?"

"Yes, Sir." His assistant hurried to inform, "Our Lady of the Chalice Church in Xott, Merbha."

Hugo looked at Snyder and nodded; the man left the control room instantly. "I want face recognition planted on every street light, parking lot, and public camera available in that principality and all over Sicily."

"Right away, sir."

They could have a contingent prepared in twenty minutes, and they would be in Merbha's soil in less than two hours. With a fucking gate so close in Malta, there was no room for error this time.

"As soon as we're in the air, I want fifteen minute updates, even if there's nothing new to report. Did I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. I already have all our satellites engaged. If they're moving, we'll get them."

Picking up his communicator, Hugo tapped with his finger on the earpiece and arched an eyebrow, eyeing his assistant. "Aaron, after this is over, I'll send you and your husband to Hawaii. Sorry I fucked up your honeymoon. You know I couldn't do this without you."

"I'm aware of that, sir, and I appreciate your efforts and concern."

Hugo left the room. True, they'd helped two scared Americans retained against their will at that villa in Perugia, but jumping in the middle of a drug related kidnapping wasn't their job. Their resources were for other endeavors, like rescuing Angel from the hands of Juggernaut.

The jarring noise of the chopper greeted Hugo as he reached the roof. Snyder smiled when he sat beside him, behind the pilot. "We're going to find him this time, baby."

"We must, his time is running thin." Hugo sighed.

The church of Our Lady of the Chalice might have not been able to offer sanctuary in the past, but for Angel and Malachi it had been a blessing. The good priest not only had two pairs of house shoes in the office (even if they fitted Malachi better than him) but a modern desktop without a password to engage it. Not to mention that the keys of an old Volvo were right beside the keyboard.

They made a donation of two thousand euros (you know: broken window, stolen shoes, borrowed car) and discovered after a few miles why the vehicle had been resting in its garage. It sputtered and coughed dark fumes, stopping altogether and leaving them stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Malachi said the goddess never abandoned the brave, and it appeared to be true since after five minutes under the baking sun, they heard braying. Manning a ridiculously similar to an old West wagon full of fruits and vegetables, the old man stared suspiciously at the one hundred euro bill (perhaps he had never seen one of those up close), turning it this and that way with his gnarly hands. After a long hesitation, he agreed to take them to the outskirts of Jannar, the fabled capital of Merbha, a two hour donkey ride.

Angel didn't want to think how little that would have been in Volvo minutes.

"If this were a Stephanie Plum novel, the bad guys would make this veggie cart explode."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, you need to get your head out of the stars and embrace popular culture, they did a movie and Katherine Heigl was in it and everything."

"Is she like a spy or something?"

"Far from it. A bounty hunter."

"Genius."

Grateful for the shade over their heads, they rested in each other's arms. Malachi petted him as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and that conflicted and encouraged Angel simultaneously in a scrambling mash up of feelings.

"Are you gonna tell me what is really going on?" Angel scowled as Malachi traced his lips in a poorly disguised effort to make him shut up. "You can't avoid it any longer."

"Shh, I'll tell you everything once we're safely ensconced in a hotel room."

"I thought we were going to our embassy."

"That's the first place they'd watch, don't you think?"

Angel sighed. "The same as airports and any other method of transportation then. What are we gonna do?"

Malachi picked up a fruit and took a bite. "Do you think this is organic?"

"Seriously, we need to find a way to go home, and you're worrying about chemicals?"

"Hey, an earthquake didn't kill us. I don't want a pesticide-related death." Chuckling, Malachi took another bite and (after chewing for a moment) kissed Angel.

One of those _let me fuck you all the way to your soul_ kisses obscenely heightened by the sweet flavor of the unnamed fruit.

A good thing his borrowed house shoes had enough room for his toes to curl.

After Malachi finished screw (ahem) kissing him, and he came down from the ethereal mental orgasm, Angel found his voice and grumbled, "I refuse to be quieted in that fashion every time I want answers." He glared to save some of his almost non-existent dignity.

"I thought you liked it. This misguided me." Malachi squeezed Angel's achingly hard cock.

Well, at least I didn't make a mess in my pants.

"Not a matter of distaste but of fairness. I can't think when you make me soar like that!"

Malachi gave a solemn nod. "Okay. I'll reserve those for more important occasions."

They realized they were in a more urbanized place when a car honked behind them, making both jump, startled.

Minutes later, they bade their farewells to their grumpy savior and got a cab to the center of their destination.

If Ibiza had drunken sex with Manhattan, Jannar would be their offspring. Just visualize a Time Square'd seaside resort. They stopped at a restaurant for a much needed meal and went in search of a bank afterward to get as much cash as possible from the credit cards. Whoever was behind their captors would situate them in Merbha, but after that, they would not leave an electronic trace to pinpoint them again. Even if those hunting them learned they were in Jannar, the city was big enough to allow them to lay low until they figured out what needed to be done.

Amid this chaotic situation, something about Malachi made Angel feel secure (and protected?), and as much as he wanted to protest against the sensation, he couldn't deny it; no matter how hinky this pile of dung was. This didn't mean Angel wasn't ready to wring the truth out of Malachi the second they were behind closed doors.

# CHAPTER TEN

"Sir, face recognition pinned them entering Orange's, a ten-story department store on Mediterranean Avenue in Jannar."

That was a several blocks down from where Hugo had settled his command center in a suite of The Excelsior. "Good, hack into the building's cameras and find them. I'm sending men to all possible exits."

It has a massive underground garage, sir. A good place to collect the targets."

"Noted. Check back in fifteen." Hugo heard the "yes, sir" and visualized Aaron nodding as if Hugo were in front of him.

On the humongous screen Snyder had a blueprint of the store, Hugo swore under his breath. Half a block wide, it had so many escape routes including cargo bays that it screamed _we're not gonna sneak but prance out, you bee-atch._

"I know what you're thinking. It might seem a logistic nightmare, but my men have handled worse."

"I'm not worried about your men, Snyder. The innocent bystanders are my concern. You know Juggernaut doesn't give a flying fuck what they wreck on their way." Com-pad in hand, Hugo plopped beside Snyder, circling his free arm around him. "I want to trust Angel's intelligence, but what if that bastard quote unquote astronomer has brainwashed him?"

"Unless he has super powers, I don't see how in so few days. We're not talking hostage situation here to fear some Stockholm syndrome. The email seemed normal enough. I'd say in some twisted way Angel is having fun."

Hugo smirked. "Yeah. That boy's not easily broken. You have no idea how many times I thought he was going to snuff his fucker of a father off."

"I seriously question the wisdom of that man. How is it possible, for what you've told me, that he forced Angel into learning all the things that could easily turn the boy into a weapon against him?"

"I can answer that no more than I can explain you why buttercups smell the way they do."

"Destiny?"

"Perhaps," Hugo sighed. "Unit one is in place. Aaron should bring a report about now."

In cue, a soft beep alerted Hugo of Aaron incoming voice. "Sir, we cannot find them."

"What?" Hugo jumped from the sofa and started pacing. "As in you lost them?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I have ten men browsing every single camera in and out of that building, and the targets are not visible anywhere."

"That must be a mistake. It's just been fifteen minutes."

"I'm aware of that, sir. It appeared as if they simply vanished."

"Where was the last place within the building any of you saw them?"

"An escalator. By the time they were supposed to exit it, they were gone."

"Son of a bitch," Hugo growled. Snyder stood behind him, kneading the million knots taking possession of his neck and shoulders. "All right, keep the search going. I'm counting on you."

Snyder huffed, "This means I'm not getting any tonight."

"You most certainly are not."

"Fuck."

Armed with hats and sunglasses, they bought new clothes and other necessities, including a wig and hair bleach, and rented a bungalow from where they would plan their strategy to reach his contacts in Italy.

Angel came out of the bathroom—after a much needed shower, turned into a sexy platinum blond hunk of a man. Malachi didn't know if his go-go dancer had done it before, but he even managed to bleach his eyebrows closer to a light shade of brown. Thank the goddess Angel hadn't been ensnared by Jersey guidos with their overdone eyebrows like fucking Vulcans.

Time to see if blonds really have more fun.

"Blessed be all those sweatshop children." Angel padded into the bedroom wiggling his less swollen feet. "These flip flops are like walking on a darn cloud."

The white things looked nice on Angel's pale feet. As he turned to put the towel back in the bathroom, Malachi studied the sweet, sweet form. Malachi couldn't say those were girl jeans, the crotch was extremely bulge-appropriate, but the sexy muscle-hugging contour of the backside, especially because it didn't have pockets, screamed _destroy me now_.

Really hard to focus on a mission when your target is so... fuckable.

But it was becoming something else quicker than a plummeting satellite, and Malachi didn't know if he had the strength to fight it. The time to explain Angel the seriousness of his crossroads neared.

Angel donned a red tank top, much like the one he had been wearing the first time Malachi made contact with him behind the bar top of Septima Luna. He admired the fine youngster, wondering if he should pick up a shirt to complement his caramel cargo shorts and go for a walk on the beach, despite the fact that they were fugitives.

I can go shirtless, it's a beach.

An absolutely even sillier thought seized his mind. "Dance for me." After all, their quarters had modern commodities, and the sound system looked phenomenal.

Without answering, no visible shock on his lovely face, Angel grabbed a chair and put it in the middle of the room. "Take your place, then."

Fast music, devoid of vocals, surrounded them. Angel started to sway in time with the bass, moving closer and sidling, just near enough to touch Malachi with feathery fingers for a second.

The gyrating pelvis was an invitation. Angel unbuttoned his jeans slowly. Rhythm muffled the teasing snaps, and Malachi realized Angel was doing the show commando. And the carpet matched the curtains! He became dizzy, not that he had a preference for blonds, just the fact that Angel thought about it was breathtaking.

A pocketless backside undulated over his lap, revealing enough skin to make Malachi's mouth water. The pressure of Angel's solid ass over his chest as the lad dragged it down in a torturing maneuver left Malachi questioning the sanity of this request. Was he supposed to touch or titty bar rules applied here too?

Angel gave him the solution when he sat completely on Malachi's lap, grabbed one hand and made him squeeze Angel's almost-out-of-the-jeans crotch. Rock hard cock and supple balls tempted Malachi; his brain only functioned to utter a breathless, "Oh, baby."

Still rocking, Angel craned his neck a bit and murmured over the swelling tempo, "My eloquent astronomer."

Angel strutted away from Malachi's aching groin, sinful cadence enveloping the lean hips as he whirled to face him and with practiced dexterity got rid of those insanity-driving jeans in four movements. Malachi hadn't seen real stripper pants disappeared as quick. Astonished would be an understatement.

Naked, except for the tank top, Angel continued his sinuous contortions around the chair, tracing a pattern that only he understood but that finally had him with lube and condoms in hand, just to leave them at grabbing distance from Malachi's feet.

Displayed as banners, wicked intentions shone on Angel's eyes, causing a constant fluctuation between desert and flood in Malachi's mouth. He'd never been frozen and on fire at once in his entire adulthood like this. The red cotton over creamy, moving skin was worse than the passes of a bullfighter's cape; Malachi ought to be the sword this time, to pierce, to command, to conquer.

The full mast bobbing with each swing had Malachi enthralled, and every fiber of his being wanted him on his knees worshiping Angel, just as he deserved. The soul inside him had made men crazy before, and Malachi had a glimpse of why now. How something so adorable could be this enticing and dangerous?

A triangular back stopped, owning his vision, and Angel folded his body slowly, caressing his ankles with hands that should have been Malachi's. The ascension continued, undulating music in tandem. Narrow hips and velvet buns oscillated.

Malachi couldn't see Angel's hands now, but the concave arch from nape to coccyx was the most erotic offer he'd ever received. He should be doing something instead of gawking like a monumental fool.

His trembling fingers ventured forward, and Angel grabbed them, mischievousness decorating his sideways, currently golden features. He swallowed one digit, pristine lips wrapped around it, making a conscious effort to drag the action to a point where Malachi was about to cream his shorts.

Malevolence guided his dancer as he directed the wetted finger toward his puckered hole and inserted it, sending Malachi to cross-eyed blurriness. "You like that, don't you?"

"Oh fuck yes." there was no point on being shy about it.

Muscles clenched, and Malachi groaned, his arm a piston into buttery regions.

Moans and curses overpowered the music. Angel withdrew the creamy heat and turned, his cock leaking and ready to be of service. However, he knelt between Malachi's legs, eyes lidded and sultry.

Before Malachi could help, his zipper had been opened, and Angel's tongue swirled around his glands, putting emphasis on his sensitive, son of a bitch frenulum.

Angel hummed and stared at Malachi, all hollowed cheeks and dark windows. His head bobbed in a languid rhythm, taking more and more of Malachi's length with each motion.

"If we're really using those condoms, you need to stop."

A smile was a smile even with a mouthful lodged between sexy lips, and Angel let go of Malachi's cock, a wink the last departing gesture. "Now I get the chance to ride this chunky aardvark."

Amid the lust consuming him, Malachi felt his laughter bloom; a soft breeze stirring a bonfire. "An aardvark. Damn, you're something."

"Tip of an iceberg, baby," Angel assured him and had him latex-covered with some expert flicks in a flash. "I hope you caught the negative metaphor because there's nothing gelid about the flesh I'm about to sit on."

Yeah, an incandescent machinegun is more like it.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Angel impaled himself. Goose bumps sprouted over his arms and legs. His Adam's apple bobbed as his head was thrown backward, and he exhaled a labored moan.

Malachi had thought Angel inside him was sublime; this was beyond reality. The guilt fighting to surface drowned in the potent current of feverish need and irrevocable recognition. He had to make things right for Angel.

He kissed and lapped the lovely neck—masculine, thick, and arresting in its softness.

Liquid eyes focused on Malachi, plump lips slamming against his mouth a second later. Angel put a hand on either side, taking hold of the high back of the chair for leverage, and started a completely different dance. Utterly intimate, there was no bouncing but a brutally slow circular motion, an inverted whisking of sorts, where the bowl moved instead of the fork.

Only able to keep his hold onto Angel's hips as a wonderful haze clouded his brain, Malachi accepted the invasion. He planted his feet firmly to handle the heavenly weight turning him inside out. So many truths to yell when those lips ceased their assault, but Malachi settled for a simple question instead. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

The moan, the tightly shut eyes and the twisting squeeze on his cock were more than enough answer. Still, Angel colored it all with an exhaled growl, "Oh fuck."

Malachi purred words of encouragement and reined in some neurons to caress silky flanks, muscled arms, square shoulders. Through this, Angel groaned, his languid dance becoming jerkier, until Malachi's hands reached his bottom and kneaded and spread. A hissed "oh sweet Mississippi" was the only warning before ropes and ropes of warm sperm covered their abdomens, chests and necks.

The throes of his little platinum dancer's orgasm triggered Malachi's, and volley after volley filled the latex sheath. Shiny dots knocked his sight and tremors seized him. From a fogged distance, he recognized the sting on his lower lip as Angel bit it.

And the pain was brazenly welcome.

And the release was stellar.

Angel finally came down from the blissful heights of ecstasy, swinging like that cartoon dog after eating his doggy snacks, with what he was sure was the stupidest grin plastered on his face. He felt boneless and drained and happy like a ray of sunshine, no matter how much the nocturnal wind tried to tell him it was night, night, night.

Malachi seemed relaxed even if a possessive arm kept Angel clutched to him. With uttermost care, Angel released the muscled latch and padded toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Refreshed by the soothing cold in his throat, he returned to find Malachi sitting and fully alert. "Hey, everything is alright," Angel whispered, "I'm here, nothing happened."

Muscles softened a teensy bit, but the watchfulness didn't leave Malachi's eyes. "It's time for knowledge, Angel."

"Well, we're going backwards. I thought I was _baby_ already," Angel singsonged cheerfully.

"If you don't shoot me after what I'm going to tell you, I won't call you anything else but baby for the rest of my life."

"Rest of my life" sounded like a lot of commitment, and (strangely) the concept brightened even more Angel's mood, dismissing the shooting comment. He hopped onto the bed and scooted, practically burrowing into Malachi's side. "Okay."

Staring ahead, Malachi spoke while Angel let the movement of those lips hypnotize him. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"Sure. Seems like a good thing, to have the opportunity to come back and do things in a different way and evolve."

Still looking at any place but at Angel, Malachi let the bomb fall. "What if I tell you that in your previous life you were Antinous, Hadrian's revered lover?"

Angel chuckled. "I'll tell you to stop shitting me and fuck me again."

Malachi's eyes settled on Angel, a convulsed ocean would have been (a looooot) clearer. "That's why those people want you. It's always been about you."

Slowly, Angel shifted to sit cross-legged facing Malachi. "Let's say I believe this nonsense for half a second. That knowledge is inconsequential." He shrugged. "I am not Shirley MacLaine."

Stern, Malachi shook his head. "This is not a joke, Angel. You're the living embodiment of a god."

"Wow." Angel snorted. "That explains so many things."

"How so?" Malachi caressed his cheek, his hand big and calloused and oh so tender.

"Well, that little bitch must have been a total number, and that is why I had such a fucked up childhood. My dad must have been some other lover Hadrian ditched for Antinous, and that's why he felt the compulsive need to make my life as miserable as possible."

It was Malachi turn to snort. "You're taking this from the wrong angle."

"Nope, we're still in that half second moment, and I'm positive this information doesn't make any difference in my life. That's why it's called a previous life, because it happened already, a.k.a. Gone."

Looking mutinous, Malachi grated, "You wanna hear the rest of it?"

"Sure, why not?" Angel stretched, his hands clasped over his head. This was such a pile of dung, it didn't deserve even an eye roll.

"Three gates exist in different parts of the world, and they can only be opened by living embodiments of gods."

"Indiana Jones." Angel put his palm out. "Don't you dare tell me where they are. I don't wanna know."

"This is serious."

The growl reminded Angel of a pissed off coyote. Soon he'd discover that Malachi was also a shifter, or an angelic warrior, or something.

Yeah, right.

" _Darlin'_ , it isn't serious 'til I believe it's true, and that's not happening." Nonetheless, Angel couldn't say the archaeologist in him wasn't somewhat interested (just a teensy bit).

Thick fingers massaged Malachi's temple; the fire seemed gone, and the empty shell was truly shocking. Angel gave in, anything to take away that lifeless look from Malachi. "Alright, Kemo Sabe, what's the purpose of the gates?"

"To bring an army to life."

Angel could swear Malachi pouted, and it was so cute he wanted to jump and kiss him. He needed to learn how to kiss-fuck like the astronomer.

Hold your horses, an army?

"Sweet baby Jesus drowning in the Mighty Mississippi, why does it always have to be some blasted thing to bring destruction and shit? Why is it never for the unicorns to populate Earth again, or unleash something to eradicate all illness, or oh fuck." He did it; he rolled his eyes.

"Why do you think you picked up Latin and Greek so easily?"

"What does it have to do with anything? Do I have to speak those languages to open the darn gates?"

"I don't know. They're ancient. I guess. I was saying because of who you were."

"That I was Antinous is within the realm of possibility. I'm not conflicted by such a notion. It's the shit-smearing army thing that's getting on my nerves."

"I'm sorry." Malachi took Angel's hands and stroked his fingers.

"No, baby. _I'm sorry_ they tortured _you_ because of _me_." Angel moved and straddled Malachi's lap, raining kisses over his face. "My poor baldy suffering for a long dead concubine," he crooned.

"Would this be a fucked up moment to say I'm falling in love with you?" Solemn didn't look right on Malachi's sexy features.

Angel stared at Malachi for a long moment. "I don't know about falling, but something underneath me is going up, and I like it."

Four rounds later, when Angel had Malachi exhausted and muted, he pondered this insane turn of events as the man beside him snored. He didn't know if having psycho fanatics chasing him was a good thing (that wasn't a good thing in anyone's book, duh). What he knew is that he was in Merbha, at so many, many thousand miles from his normal life, with a dreamy bald astronomer who just said he was falling in love with him.

They had a lot of euros in their wallets, and free time to enjoy his cue-ball until the fanatics found him again.

Bad omen, his ass; there must be a reason for this path ahead of him. How many times would he have to come back if he didn't learn to truly stand up for himself in this life? Perhaps something good could come out of this shitload, he needed to learn more about this supposed army. What if the army in question were used to stop all current wars?

He snorted; Malachi mumbled in his sleep.

Yeah, Angel Green, savior of mankind.

He could almost see the headlines, BOY FROM MISSISSIPPI IS A GOD, HOW ABOUT THAT?

And he saw the protesters too, there were always protests, because everybody else had the only truth, and anyone else's was just a hoax. Didn't he watch on TV some women with signs saying HARRY POTTER IS EVIL, a fucking fictional kid?

Oh, and when the media exploited the totally juicy details that he was gay and a go-go boy and occasional escort: well (grind my cock and make some burgers), all Hell would totally break loose.

Darn Hadrian had to make people worship his darn lover.

Although, the romanticism of the situation was undeniable, a love so great, it had to become a cult. Angel pursed his lips, studying the ceiling. What would it be like to live such a love story?

Whatever this thing growing between Malachi and him was, would it be at least a smidge of that?

No reason to be driving down this cotton-candy-clouds road, they were two men who happened to be in the right place at the right time. That happened all the time, in every city and in many forms. Nothing special about his run of the mill romance. At least, if he was a little person (yeah, fun size) and the astronomer slash warrior a seven-foot-tall gladiator that would be some kind of messed up opposites attract worthy of a TV movie.

Time to stand up for himself. They were going to continue as planned, make the psychos work for his ass; he was not going to put it in a platter for them.

Tomorrow they'd take the train to Pozzallo, from there the many connections to Messina, take the frigging ferry and cross to mainland. If the Goddess and Destiny weren't shooting craps with their fate, they'd find sanctuary with Malachi's cousins in Rome in less than seventy-two hours.

Hate was a verb he used sparingly, but these fuckers were truly pushing him.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

ANGEL GREEN

10-27-89 (06:55 a.m.)

Solar sign: Scorpio

Language: English, Latin & Greek

Place of birth: Greenville, Mississippi

Height: 5' 11"

Weight: 190 lbs.

Body & Ethnics: Athletic, Caucasian

Hair: Short and Black

Body Hair: Natural, no beard

Eyes: Blue

Piercings: No

Tattoos: No

Smoker: No

Position: Bottom

Tau couldn't read anymore. "What is this, a Gay-trap dot com profile?" She hurled the folder, pages flying in all directions.

Her assistant rushed to collect them. "No, countess. It's the standard procedure when one of the targets is gay so we can assign a proper shadow."

This was her starring moment, the thing she'd been waiting for her whole life, and this pile of incompetents acted as if she was going to romance the little whore. "I want sensible information, i.e. a physiological profile perhaps, to know how to approach him when he is finally in our hands. I'm not going to fuck him. I don't think he's happy around lady parts."

"Here is the profile Sir Neun prepared, countess." Still on the floor, the assistant raised a hand offering two pages.

She snatched them, almost crunching the paper, and paced, reading rapidly.

Beneath a controlled, cool exterior beats a deeply intense heart. Passionate, penetrating, and determined, the target will probe until he reaches the truth. He may not speak volumes or show emotions readily, yet rest assured there is an enormous amount of activity happening beneath the surface. Could be an excellent leader, and seems always aware. When it comes to resourcefulness, he comes out ahead.

"I don't like this." She read a few more paragraphs and crumpled the annoying white sheet. "Where is Neun?"

"He hasn't reported in a while, countess. Do you want me to contact Kovak to find out?"

"Yes, find out what's going on and to what gate they're guiding this boy. And if Kovak wishes to speak with me, I'm busy. Confirm all units are prepared to converge at the different gates within ten minutes, and have my jet at the ready. I have a bad feeling about Mr. Green."

"At once, countess." the assistant scurried out of her office.

Tau tapped her long crimson nail on her bared teeth, something she only did when she was truly miffed. None of the other operative LE's was as available as Nine's target; too engaged in political and public activities to disappear without a fuss. And they would need to wait at least two more years for the oldest of the inoperative to be of use.

They were so close, she could taste it. If she had to hold up the operation for another twenty-four months (until the next LE was operative), she would start shooting people just by looking at her the wrong way.

Even if you couldn't tell it was a wig, Angel had to admit that as much as he'd bitched during their first encounter about the baldness and the fedora-wearing, Malachi wasn't the same if Angel couldn't fantasize about riding that shaved cranium.

None would be the wiser, and Malachi looked fashionably dapper with the dark brown, neck-length falsie, aviator sunglasses, unassuming white polo shirt, caramel cargos, around-the-world rucksack and esoteric sandals. He was any other globetrotter exiting a train.

A group of Belgians had animatedly surrounded them during the trip from Jannar to Pazzollo, and compared to the monsters (competing with fridges) they each carried on their backs, Angel and Malachi's bags were mere lunchboxes.

They said their good-byes to the cheerful group and turned in the opposite direction to find the next train for their connection. As they approached the changing timetables Angel noticed three men who were staring at them with a bit more enthusiasm than needed. Wouldn't be his luck if they reached their next stop without an incident.

"I think I found our tail." Angel elbowed Malachi, who browsed the departures on the board.

"Fuck. Where?"

"The three scarecrows at my four." Angel covered his mouth moving to his side. "What do we do?"

Malachi did a quick inspection of the crowded, unknown area. He nodded toward the Belgians loitering around the vending machines and a row of seats. "Let's go join the wanderers. They'd not try anything with so many people talking to us."

With a nonchalant gait, Angel ambled until he greeted their train companions, Malachi close on his heels. He situated himself in a way that left most of the group blocking him from their tails' direct line of view. He chatted using his hands and rolling his eyes, bitching about delays and swarming train stations, and the nomads laughed aloud, readjusting their traveling humps.

Their shadows moved closer in a failed attempt of surreptitiousness. Malachi asked him if he wanted a soda and (without waiting for an answer) hurried to the vending machine. Angel started playing with one of the girls' braided blond hair, and she teased back about his bleaching job. You can't fool a European natural blond (No offense, Jessica).

They all laughed more, and, suddenly, everybody was touching everyone else one way or another. The problem with that was, if they needed to bolt—such tangling was not a good idea. Malachi came shaking the cans of soda, and, as the tails closed in, he opened both with swift fingers and sprayed the contents on two of their followers.

Hell broke loose.

Monumental duffel-bag-sausages swayed in all directions, pushing the blinded goons. The third one went face first as the stampede of nomads kicked and babbled. Malachi latched to Angel's wrist and ran.

Women shrieked, children cried, men cursed, and Malachi and Angel fled the scene of the soda crime, dodging and ducking and elbowing people aside. Angel turned to see where the tails were and found them, ties flying, guns drawn, and leaving passengers scattered in their wake like bowling pins.

"Guns, Malachi!" They hopped down a flight of stairs and crossed the street avoiding bumpers and rears and aiming to escape between two buildings. The long, stinky corridor wasn't especially narrow; yet it seemed so thanks to the four thousand ginormous trash containers along both walls, making them zigzag so much Angel felt he might just add his breakfast to the stench-fest.

"There." Malachi pointed to his left as soon as they exited the alley. A cat yowled; Angel turned to look back, regardless of the possibility of morphing into a pile of salt or the angry faces he'd see on their pursuers.

Something like a firecracker whooshed past them and exploded on the stupidly large dumpster at the entry of the alley identical to an egg in a microwave (don't ask). All kinds of waste flew left, right and center, stopping their tails with loud smacks of putrid randomness. Like watching a car wreck, Angel couldn't take his eyes of the men while they cursed and yelled, and more rotten debris rained over them, the walls, and the parked cars. Passersby fled, cursing and resembling startled seagulls.

Angel almost tripped as they gained the entrance of the docks and ran, still linked by the firm grip of Malachi's to his wrist, steering him to an unknown destination. "Do we have a plan?" he yelled.

"We need something moving" Malachi bellowed without looking at him.

Then why didn't they hijack a car when they were able and instead kept moving toward the darn ocean? Did Malachi even know how to pilot a frigging boat, if his plan was stealing one?

Another whoosh and a car exploded in front of them, forcing them to crouch and veer toward a row of cars moving sluggishly into a ferry. Shouts and screams and car alarms roaring, Angel was breathless, and (for a second) he thought about stopping and surrendering, he didn't sign for artillery aimed at them; a couple of mofos on their heels, okay—bazookas, no. He mentally slapped himself; didn't he say he wanted them to work for his ass?

Your fault for having Stephanie Plum delusions; enjoy your explosions now.

Besides, again there were people getting hurt or worse, dead—thanks to their pursuers. One thing was to rain punches or break noses and jaws, and another to kill people (most of those scruples had gone through the window after what these fuckers did to Malachi, but still). Having the departure of innocent people from this world on his conscience didn't sit right with him, not a bit.

At the beginning of the line, Malachi opened the back door of a ridiculously minimal yellow car and pushed Angel in, then yanked the co-pilot door and sat beside what must have been the Italian version of a stoner. The guy yelped and parroted rapidly. Malachi shushed him, "English?"

Pepperoni Stoner glared at him. "Yes. What is your problem?"

Now Angel knew how people must feel in bad mob movies working as extras.

"Did you hear that explosion a minute ago? Some very bad guys are chasing us, and we need your help."

Dude arched an eyebrow. He seemed intelligent enough, or at least English-aware enough to understand the situation, and the car didn't smell that much like pot. "How much you're going to pay me?"

Of course.

"I'll give you three hundred euros if you take us with you wherever it is you're going."

"Three hundred, that's all you have?"

"Yes." Malachi looked more menacing that imploring, having taken his aviators off. Angel had to accept it was giving him a hard-on.

Well, as a scholar he finally understood why warriors always had a boner going to battle, the adrenaline rush was wonderful for an erection (this didn't compare to wanting to jump Blond Hulk, this was the real deal). He just needed to find something to do with his hardened flesh before it waned. They'd divided the money in case they got separated so he had a couple of thousands on him. He was ready to offer a couple more hundred if dude let them fuck in the back of the car during the journey. Europeans were very open-minded; he'd probably enjoy the show (a lot).

"Oka-ee," dude shrugged and with his deep tortellini accent added, "give me money now."

The huge ramp slowly ascended, sealing their fate. Angel could still hear the sirens screaming at the top of their lungs back on the docks.

"A hundred now. The rest when we land." Malachi moved to retrieve the money, and dude gasped (in an uncannily girly way) with eyes like plates. Apparently, another Italian friend had been introduced. In other words, Mr. Beretta had been spotted.

"One hundred is very fine for trip."

Yeah, stoners were lovers, not fighters.

"I offered three hundred, and that's what I'm gonna give you." Malachi crossed his arms over his chest, settling more comfortably on his seat. "Some music would be nice."

Darn. So much for hootchy-kootchy in the back seat of a clown car.

"And what part of Sicily are we going to, mister?" Angel asked.

"No Sicily. This ferry goes to Malta." Dude answered, peering at Angel from the rearview mirror.

This wasn't good, they were going to be trapped on that island with no passports or identifications, and surely those tracking them would figure out their location soon enough. "Malachi?"

"No problem, baby. Remember what I told you about grandma, I still have property and family there. We'll be alright."

More cousins. I don't like this.

Dude waved a _True Blue_ CD. "Madonna, oka-ee?"

Angel growled, "Sure, why the fuck not? We're bound to the other Isla Bonita."

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Who shoots rockets in the middle of a jam-packed street?" Hugo slammed the desk.

Snyder swirled his drink. "The boys are raiding the docks full on."

"That wasn't Juggernaut. It must have been that third player we still don't have a clue about."

"The one you tortured some guys from?"

"They didn't have much information, just independents with a contract to kidnap Angel. The money trail was a dead end."

"We got people five minutes away from every gate, the moment we notice something weird happening, we can react instantly. It's not like opening an elevator, it takes time, and we can stop them before they even start."

"Before, I thought Angel would be fine, but after this? Poor kid must be rattled. I mean, a fucking launcher."

"Although, it seemed as if they were shooting at their own people, really sloppy I'd say."

The incoming beep had Hugo shushing Snyder at once. "Tell me something good."

"Yes, sir, we found them."

"Excellent." Hugo rested a hand on Snyder's shoulder. "Where?"

Aaron's hesitation didn't sit well with Hugo. He finally said, "In Birgu, sir. Less than ten miles from Malta's gate. The site is still open for tourists so they'd need to wait for dusk."

After an hour and a half of Madonna's greatest (and not so greatest) hits across the Mediterranean, Angel found himself seated at a restaurant embedded on a flank of the conveniently named Fort Saint Angelo. The most exotic thing about the place was not the cuisine but the name, which in Roman times was the word for bordello, _Lupanara_. Only in Angel's book he'd end up waiting to be abducted in a pick-up point named after a whorehouse.

Their table was outdoors beside a water front, and Malachi had gone inside to phone his cousins. Fashionably crowded at mid-afternoon, people chatted in many languages around Angel. He sipped his wine and noticed a familiar figure coming toward him from the ancient stone arches beyond the entrance.

Relief, anger, and the need to flee braided in a strong cord, paralyzing Angel until the man pulled a chair and sat beside him. The blond oaf spoke in soft tones after lighting a cigarette and blowing his first puff. "Pretty hair color. Nice to see you're all right."

"I should say the same but, under the circumstances, you'd know it's lie."

He didn't look like someone who had been under a tree less than a week ago. Unfolding a napkin and cigarette dangling, his former jailer chuckled. "You have a good heart, boy. Don't try to disguise it."

Angel didn't believe he was so transparent. What was taking Malachi so long? The man hadn't approached him guns ablaze, so it was time for small talk then. "I'd care a little more if I knew your name."

"Martan Kovak," was tossed with an elegant shrug. "Want my DOB, too?"

"Nah, your social security number would be better to fuck you over." In spite of everything, Angel felt that in a different life he could have been friends with this mountain of muscles. And he was handsome in a wrestling-federation-heavy-weight silly way. "So, what now?"

"No foreplay? No haggle? No threats? I have to say I'm disappointed."

"I'm aware of the situation, Martan. You came to take me to the gate. My only condition is that you let Malachi go."

Right beside him, Angel heard a muffled "Fuck"

"You found us," Malachi growled stiffly, a hand on Angel's shoulder, immobile.

"I have to admit the wig threw us off a little but not for long." Martan pointed with his chin at Angel. "Little spitfire here wants you out of the trip."

"I heard that," Malachi sighed, sounding almost defeated.

"What say you, then?" Blond Hulk puffed another bluish cloud with a twist of his lips.

Was Martan laughing at Malachi?

Malachi sat opposite to the intruder, looking at him but holding Angel's hand with both of his. "Wherever he goes, I go with him."

Like a child refusing bad medicine, Angel shook his head violently. "No, you don't have to do this."

"It's not your decision, it's mine. We're in this together." Malachi stroked Angel's knuckles. "Please, baby, let me stay with you."

The idea was to set Malachi free so these idiots didn't have any leverage against him. The frigging cue-ball was making the case more complicated that it needed be. But he didn't have any strength to refuse those sad puppy eyes. Malachi had turned him into a ninny. "Oh, shoot. Why do you have to insist?"

"No reason for you to go through this alone." Malachi smiled, and that sealed Angel's sentence.

"I'd say you two birdies need to stick together, and I don't have a problem with that." Martan singsonged with unusual joviality, inhaling from his smoke incubator. "The more the merrier."

"If in some filthy recess of your twisted mind you're hoping this leads to a three-way, you are in for a rude awakening," Angel hissed shooting daggers at Martan.

Palms up, Martan replied with the stupidest grin ever to grace planet Earth, "Geez, lady, untwist your panties. I like my action one-on-one. Don't flatter yourself."

Aggravation oozed from Malachi as he barked, "Enough, Kovak."

"How do you know his name?" Angel narrowed his eyes, and Malachi's hesitation didn't escape him.

Martan snorted and answered, "I always introduce myself before I torture the shit out of my victims."

Angel rolled his eyes and groaned palming his forehead.

What an asshole.

Angel was sincerely hungry and royally pissed off that his hackles weren't up in the middle of this messed-up conjunction; he decided to put an end to the macho malarkey. "Okay, since we all gonna be civil here, I want to get my meal and then go wherever the fuck is that you need me to go. Martan _order_ something and be quiet." Then he smiled, tight-lipped. "It's on us."

Both men looked chastised enough. Martan judiciously snuffed his sickly sweet smelling device off on a conveniently centered ashtray.

Their waiter appeared with Angel's Rosemary Lamb as if cued.

Good. With a full stomach Angel would be able to deal with what was ahead, even if he didn't have all the pieces to prepare himself.

Kovak forced them to a lot of sightseeing in congested areas to avoid any encounter with the Brotherhood and wait until the gate was devoid of tourists. From St. John's Cathedral, that didn't look different from any other centuries old church from the outside but was all gilded and magnificent inside, to the Grand Harbour with its impressive medieval fortifications intermingling with modern port structures. Malachi caught Angel several times looking at him with more suspicion that at Kovak, and that hurt a lot. Luckily for him, the Hypogeum (the world's only underground prehistoric temple) needed at least a six-week in advance reservation for its tour. That would have been the worst place to be ambushed if their enemies went bunkers.

Even if ninety percent of the time Kovak was a royal pain in the ass, he'd saved Malachi from blowing his cover. He knew he was running on empty and, really soon, he must tell Angel the whole truth. Perhaps if they could sit for a moment by one of the hundreds of sidewalk cafes and send Kovak for a hike, he could muster the courage to tell Angel everything. The fucking black hole in his stomach became larger by the second, and his damn partner had been puffing like a chimney to make matters worse.

Thankfully, Malachi had ditched the wig and, in the nice weather of Malta, didn't need the sunglasses that much so he could steal glances with Angel. His target's questioning looks were badly disguised. Nevertheless, Angel gifted him with wonderful smiles now and then. Those made Malachi desperate for a secluded place where he could kiss Angel until the lad was numb and dizzy, and the truth would be just a hazy recollection once offered.

Surreptitiously, they exited Valleta and arrived to their next destination, Zurrieq, as they were slowly moving toward the gate, transforming a thirty-minute trip into a seven-hour journey. The delay in Zurrieq included a French animated movie with (surprisingly) English subtitles, where Angel laughed so hard the tears made his blue eyes twinkle like sparkling jewels.

Malachi's lust had turned into something extraordinary and deep. It could lead to a lifetime of togetherness if, by some unexpected miracle, Angel didn't kick him to the metaphorical curb, which in Malta could possibly translate into any nearby cliff.

Well, nobody would have a lifetime to do a thing after Angel unearthed what was behind the gate. The part Malachi dreaded the most was Angel's encounter with Tau, since she was the one to teach him how to unlock the portal and gain control of the army.

The sole idea of mean-spirited Countess Tau around Angel revolted Malachi. She might look like a lady, but she was despicable and sour in more ways than vinegar poured over hemorrhoids. Her lucky husband had gone to the Hereafter with few years of dealing with the beast.

"Are you gonna tell me where this gate is? We've been running around in circles for hours."

Kovak answered that one, even if the question had been almost murmured in Malachi's ear. He drew a coin from his pocket and tossed it at Angel. "There."

"The gate is in a bank? How fucked up is that. I'm pretty sure whatever we gonna do is illegal, but breaking and entering into a bank is _way_ beyond my comfort zone."

"No, smartass. The back," Kovak grunted and stole a weird glance on Malachi's direction.

"Still looks like a bank to me." Angel chuckled and gave the coin to Malachi, the wink accompanying it was mesmerizing.

This wasn't a new minted five cents euro but an old one, if you could say 1972 was an old year. "It's the Mnajdra temple, Angel. It'd have been nice to take you there under different circumstances."

"Whiny ass," Kovak blurted, grabbing the coin from him, "gimme back my lucky charm. It was for the boy to look at, not for you to paw over."

Angel shoved Kovak. "Hey. Play nice, you big oaf."

With a low growl, Kovak turned around toward the car. "Let's get going."

Malachi rewarded Angel with a resounding peck. "You've noticed he's bigger than you, right?"

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I don't care if the earth trembles when he walks. I don't tolerate bullies if I can help it." As they entered the car, sitting shotgun Angel added. "Besides, his people need me, so it isn't like he can do anything about it."

Kovak patted Angel's thigh with one hand and turned the ignition with the other. "Yeah, you're a treasure. On the other hand, I can beat lover boy back there to a pulp, and they will not even blink."

"Motherfucker."

"Eh, eh, eh, we agreed to be civil." Kovak chortled.

"The truth shall never offend," Angel hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Oh boy.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Instead of the Mnajdra Temple they arrived to a house that would have been more at home in LA (with its glass walls and airy disposition) than at the rocky hills of Malta, and serving as a lair where unnamable things happened (Geez, he was hysterical and sounding like Jack!). Yet, more at odds with reality were the armored men in futuristic SWAT-team-meets-cyborg black getups and wicked looking machineguns; so different from the menacing but everyday thugs guarding them in Merbha.

"Is Glock here too?" Angel didn't know what made him ask that question.

"Nope, he's not with us anymore. He died, when you two escaped."

The shock on Malachi's face was undisguised. "I don't believe I hit him that hard."

"Don't flatter yourself, birdie. A beam fell on his chest and squashed his organs." Blond gorilla spat, oozing more venom than needed for the situation, shoving Malachi into an empty room and giving entrance to Angel using a ridiculous flourish.

He wasn't fazed by Martan's ugly demeanor toward Malachi. If anything, as soon as he had the opportunity to speak to the moron in charge, he would send Malachi away and would not do shit until he was sure Malachi was somewhere safe and sound. You don't trust this kind of bastards just because they said yes, you always requested proof. Malachi's wish to stay with him be damn.

"May I offer you anything?" The mockery of hosting was annoying as Heck.

"Yeah, a full box of condoms," Angel blurted out, the same irritating tone coloring the six words.

"None of that, you fuck bunnies. I meant something to drink." Martan looked at his watch, then at something behind Malachi. "Oh, there's a pitcher of water, go ahead suit yourselves. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes to fetch you." And with that, he left.

Angel was half-expecting to hear the door bang as the brute exited.

"Well, just plain water and no condoms. What to do with our time?" Malachi smiled and held Angel by his waist.

"We can make out like football players under the bleachers."

"Shouldn't there be a busty cheerleader in that equation?"

"Oh please," Angel huffed, "it's twenty fourteen. Trust me. There are a lot of quarterbacks and wide receivers making out under the bleachers nowadays."

"But I'm a tight end." The chuckle was accompanied by a sweet bite on Angel's earlobe.

"You sure are, sweetie." Angel grabbed two handfuls of steel glutes and squeezed. "You sure are."

Malachi did that fuck-kissing thing (his hands weren't even wandering this time), and Angel was about to bust a nut—when Martan entered, displaying his usual bang as if hoping to catch them with their mouths wrapped around thick, elongated things.

Asshole.

"Is that some kind of tactic to fuck with our heads, the door banging?"

"Nah, not a tactic, I just like to be loud and make an entrance."

"Moron, an entrance is a sequins dress and a tiara, a feather boa, a flashy diamond, not kicking a fucking door."

"Oh shut up." Martan rolled his eyes. "You've been around drag queens for too long." And he looked at Malachi up and down. "Well, somebody has nice beard burns."

"Fuck off, Kovak."

That was more like it. Angel was somewhat frustrated with Malachi's passive acceptance of Martan's constant quipping.

Martan held both hands up in a gesture of surrendering. "Okay, come with me."

"Where are you taking us?"

"To the person in charge. She's eager to finally meet you."

Still no hackles up.

They walked through the airy corridors of the spacious place, flanked by armed gorillas with Martan leading them with a silly, happy skip (probably too happy by their upcoming good-byes).

The room they entered was ample and uncluttered; dark, plush sofas and pale vases full of bright flowers scattered about. The walls were correction fluid white, but the silhouette of bricks peeked from the color void. Soft lights hindered the starry night outside. A woman waited for them, legs crossed and leafing through a magazine. As she saw them, she stood, but no smile graced her handsome features.

A mix between Cruella DeVille and Milla Jovovich, the woman made all of Angel's alarms go off at once. There was nothing worse than self-importance, and this lady had a stick so up in her (probably bleached) ass, she must certainly have splinters on her tongue.

And Angel was ready to make her life miserable. "Well, grate my dick and serve some hash browns, you're darn right pretty, ma'am," he blurted with the thickest twang he could muster and shook her hand so violently he was aiming to dislocate it. "I'm Angel Green, and it's a blinkin' pleasure to meet you."

She jerked her hand away from him. "I cannot say the same." The woman almost rubbed her shoulder but caught herself in time, regaining her poise. Anything but showing some weakness.

Bitch.

"Angel, please rein your effusiveness in, Countess Tau is not accustomed to such displays of emotion." Martan intervened using the same mocking tone he usually wielded against Malachi.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus, she's one of 'em royals." Angel affected the stupidest curtsy a man could summon, pulling the hem of his shirt as if it were a skirt (belly bottom peek-a-boo included) and cross-flexing his legs. "Is Kate that pretty in person? She's one of 'em countess too, right? Oh, no she's a duchess, is that higher?"

"I'm not British. I am from Slovenia." If her eyes were lasers, Angel would have been a puddle of goo in that second.

"And where the Hell is that? After Russia?" He was playing dumb to the extreme because he knew she must be as obstinate as any billy goat from the mountainous country, and nothing irked a blue blood more than people thinking that the only true royalty was from England.

Malachi's astonishment was so evident, Angel almost snicker-snorted as he took his hand and shoved it at Tau. "This is my boyfriend Malachi, he's an astronomer, knows a whole lot about stars. Hope you don't mind, you know, two guys goin' at it. It's truly a beautiful thing."

Reaching beet red, she huffed "I know who he is, and who you fuck is irrelevant to my purpose."

"Well," Angel clapped as if inspired by joy, "since we hit cuss-level familiarity already, I'm fuckin' dying to learn how to do this gate thingy. It's got to be the shit to be able to control a zombie army." He loved the way her face had contorted hearing the words "zombie army."

She would either tell him to go fuck himself, and she would find another embodiment, or she'd suck it up and deal with it. Angel was absolutely hoping she sucked it up, because he was having too much fun pissing her off.

Her grimace was a failed attempt at a soothing smile. "Kovak, we need to talk. You two wait here." A long, black polished nail almost poked Angel's eye. She stormed out of the room with a smirking Martan trailing behind her. Apparently, he was enjoying her discomfort too.

Four gorillas remained, one in each corner, legs apart and machine guns at the ready over their chests.

Malachi moved closer to him. "What are you doing?"

Angel pushed him onto one of the sofas, straddled him and drawled loud enough for the guards to hear him, "Neckin' time!" He hissed in Malachi's ear, "Just follow my lead."

A sweet kiss ending in a bitten lower lip was followed by, "I don't think what you're doing is wise, baby."

"That might be true, but I just hate that woman from the get go. I can't help it. Vibes, remember?" He returned to the kissing and the biting. He was going to give the guards a show if the countess took too long to come back.

"I didn't know I was your boyfriend." Malachi got sidetracked and stared at him, waiting for a response. His dark eyes beamed, belying his outer concern.

"If you don't like the title, we can leave it at fuck buddy." Angel was sure "boyfriend" had shocked Countess Tau more than if he had said "fuck buddy."

"I wasn't complaining. It was just unexpected. Since we never had such a conversation, and we don't know where we might be tomorrow." Caressing Angel's cheek, Malachi added, "She could kill us."

"Nobody dies before their day to leave the land of the living. I refuse a life afraid of Death when, under normal circumstances, something could still happen at any moment. A car accident, a piano falling from a building. So many random ways to go. Tomorrow is not promised to any man."

"I hope you're not citing the Bible, because that thing is not there."

"Whoa, you know what some of 'em hardcore readers of the Good Book would do to us if they found us in this position."

"Nah, nowadays it will just be some posters with the word HATE thrown on them at a demonstration."

"Well, stick my dick in a fan, I have a big poster with the letters F and U for the countess."

"I heard that," She hissed, entering the room.

Luckily for Angel, he had never broken character.

Martan didn't know what Angel was planning, but he liked it. Tau was so bent out of shape that she burned to start throwing things left, right and center. She deserved every bit of disconformity Life handed her for being such a raging bitch.

It wasn't anybody's fault that she couldn't deal with everyday people, and Angel had captured her essence with one look. For her, handling people she considered beneath her was an extreme burden. And for whatever snob reasoning, she had assumed Angel if not her equal, at least intellectually, was challenging enough to entertain her.

That asinine supposition had blown brilliantly on her face. Martan, who could have forgiven her attitude when they were green and naïve, was enjoying every minute of this mental setback. He felt vindicated since her little tantrum had been in his presence, when she had done everything in her power to avoid and ignore him beyond necessity until today. Of all days, because there wasn't a higher person in the house besides knighted Malachi Neun, and, with stolid joy, Martan had let her rant in the same manner one would disregard a misbehaving child.

She slapped him and, in return, he French-kissed the hell out of her, just to make her lose more of her already disheveled composure, and it saddened him how in need of human contact she was that she hadn't pushed him away.

The stupid woman needed love, but she didn't have the necessary equipment to make Martan happy. Perhaps her heart, which had allowed her moronic brain to guide her through life, was as far from repair as a dead albatross. Only a champion would have the strength to salvage her wrecked soul.

Even if he didn't have the inclination or desire to help her in that way, he could never forget they were each other's first. Such knowledge should make him have a smidge of pity for her. Lamentably, it hadn't.

Now, Martan readied himself to take front seat and devour a humongous bucket of popcorn, adjusting his 3D glasses to bask in the upcoming show: _Dixie Drawl vs. The Raging Countess._

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"You can say the words in any language, as long as you visualize the doors opening and what army you want out."

"What if I say banana and imagine the door, ma'am?"

"It doesn't work that way because banana doesn't mean door in any language."

The infuriated emoticon in her mental text was about to explode. Angel could see the vein throbbing on her temple.

"And what army do I want again, ma'am?"

Angel noticed her effort not to stamp her foot and slap him. (After all) he was on his knees at the appropriate distance to receive the hit, making a diagram to produce the doors of the gate on the temple's ground with a broken piece of clay from what he assumed was an ancient pot.

"You want the Spartan Army that defeated Xerxes."

"Oh my, like the movie?"

She almost growled, "Angel, after Leonidas was killed, the elders used a gate to summon an army. I need you to focus on the elders' requested spiritual army."

Many spotlights had been rearranged to illuminate the area where Angel worked, obliterating the full moon above them. It made him sweat like the proverbial pig, even if he knew for a fact that real pigs didn't sweat a lot, and that's why they wallow in the fucking mud so happily.

But a go-go boy was used to being in the limelight, so in a Septima Luna's-fifteen-minute-break moment of inspiration, he took off his shirt and flung it triumphantly toward one of the armed trolls on his periphery. It landed on his helmet (like an ill-fitting mantilla), and Angel saw the other guards' trembling shoulders trying to hold their laughter at their comrade's expense.

Angel scratched his head, pasting the most puzzled face he could command. "Ma'am?"

"What now?"

"If this _open sesame_ thing works, what am I doing with the army again?"

"You're getting on my last nerve." She made a signal, and the guards flanking Malachi kicked him on the back of his knees and Malachi crumbled. The butt of a machine gun found his head. "If you have a shred of intelligence within you, you'll stop your nonsense right this second."

He sprang and poked her sternum with his forefinger. "Listen carefully, you sodding bitch. They touch him again, and the only coordinates that fucking army is going to find is inside your bleached ass. Let him go." He marched toward Malachi and pushed the helmet-covered faces of the two guards with his hands, making them stagger in their surprise.

By the time every guard reacted and all weapons aimed at them, Tau yelled, "Don't."

Malachi wobbled, helped by Angel, toward where the doors had been drawn. "He stays by my side, and you control your gorillas," he hissed when she was within hearing distance. "Or I'll use your own weapons against you."

The pallor on her face showed she had understood loud and clear. She nodded, her eyes narrowed and menacing.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" Angel let Malachi crouch beside him.

"Where is your heavy accent?"

"Gone with the bitch, _darlin'_."

The chuckle squeezed Angel's heart. His resolution to destroy Juggernaut grew firmer. He would use their own army to destroy their headquarters and every single motherfucker within it. The twenty thousand possessed soldiers would make the place confetti in seconds, and then he simply sent back the spiritual army to limbo or released them of their duty, whatever stroked his fancy by the time it was done.

"You." Angel pointed at Tau, his eyes narrowed. "Move away. Your face irritates me."

She glared at him and stepped backward until she was stopped by Martan holding her upper arms and keeping her plastered against his massive chest. She resisted for a second, then stood motionless but never defeated; her furious scowl screamed it.

Using up the abandoned piece of clay, Angel united the bottom lines of the traced opening. He put a hand on each door and concentrated.

" **Open gate of wonders and bring me the ghost army the elders of Sparta summoned to avenge the death of Leonidas at Thermopylae. The soul of revered Antinous Ephebus, beloved of Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus Augustus commands it."**

Angel chanted this for a while, deciding to hold Malachi's hand and visualizing immense doors (like a cathedral's) slowly moving open to spill their secrets, over and over again.

A rumor similar to a billion exhausted sighs resonated around them. The clay-outlining emanated a golden glow, its light becoming brighter and brighter by the second, and the ground shook. More than side to side, it trembled in an up and down undulating exhalation.

Until that moment, something inside Angel had hoped this hinky situation was just a bunch of malarkey. That everything was nothing but the opium dreams of mad people. Now, as the earth spread, spewing a vomit green glare, Angel steeled his heart to conquer his destiny (definitively not the time to poop his pants), because the screeches coming from the gate were bloodcurdling.

It was Julius Caesar who said "no one is so brave that he isn't disturbed by something unexpected", and this shit surely was bewildering.

The first ghostly figure emerged amidst the puke-like radiance, nothing was discernible but a head and shoulders, the rest of the body was an elongated amoeba. Angel shouted "The soul of revered Antinous Ephebus, beloved of Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus Augustus, commands you."

With a short bow, the apparition acknowledged him and floated toward him, giving berth to the next surfacing soul. The yelp of the first stricken guard made Angel lose some of his concentration, and as more guards fell to the rattling ground, he heard it above the shrieks from the opening.

In similar but green SWAT outfits, men zip lined from almost silent hovercrafts. Malachi gurgled, hit by something and let go of Angel's grasp, his hands searching his neck. Angel forgot about the spirits and the door and the destruction of Juggernaut, Malachi could not leave him there like that.

"Kai!" Angel beat Malachi's chest with closed fists. "No, no, no."

Someone grabbed him by the waist; he trashed and kicked, screaming to return to Malachi. Was that blood on Malachi's mouth? No, this couldn't be happening. He would go insane.

As he was pulled to a hovercraft, he saw the green SWATS overpowering the black SWATS. The first luminous apparition did something that Angel could only associate with a shrug and returned to the glowing hole, pushing the other entities down as if they were impertinent children trying to escape a radiantly fenced play yard. The gate morosely closed, its creepy lights and noises becoming mute. The Neolithic stone complex turned into an amorphous shadow below him. He could not find a trace of Martan or the countess; he could only distinguish Malachi's unmoving body at an odd angle in the middle of the chaos, shrinking until it was nothing but the luminous drop of a bad memory.

"It will be fine." The man holding him said in what Angel supposed was a soothing voice; as comforting as a voice coming through a tricked-out motorcycle helmet could be.

Still, the voice seemed familiar, but Angel didn't care.

As Angel was tucked into the back of a hovercraft, all he wanted was for this to be his day to leave the land of the living and be back on Mnajdra, dying beside Malachi.

"He's not responding to any treatment."

"I'm so sorry, Hugo," Snyder murmured, giving him a light hug.

"There's nothing physically wrong with him. It's like he lost his will to live."

"Maybe it was a shock too great for him. You told me how he reacted when you rescued him."

"This boy is really strong, Snyder. You have no idea the things he's gone through. He's a fighter."

"There's something more, then. Something you don't know, affecting him deeper than before."

"Yeah, I do have my suspicions. I just hope that's not the case, because it's gonna get worse as we reveal all the truth."

"Spare the kid. Sometimes you don't need the whole picture. Give him time to heal, at least."

"He's not a coward. He'll want an explanation."

"Let's get out of here. Not the place for this conversation." Snyder grabbed Hugo's arm and towed him to exit the room.

A tiny voice croaked behind them, "Wait."

Hugo got frozen at the door.

How much had Angel heard?

Shrugging Snyder off, Hugo almost knocked out the IV attached to Angel in his haste. "How are you, sweetie?" He caressed the boy's forehead.

Angel didn't open his eyes. "Hugo?"

"Yes. You want some water?" Stall. Delay. Deny.

His little friend, his charge, had lost weight and had the pallor of the comatose. No one can keep up being fed by tubes.

"What is it? What I need... to know?" The croak gained force. It seemed as if Angel was about to sit up.

"Let's wait 'til you're out of bed to have a nice, long chat. Okay?" Hugo patted a ghostly cheek.

"Mhh ...kay." Angel deflated and the monitors started to beep, annoyingly excited.

Out of nowhere, a nurse pushed Hugo aside, tossing an apology at him. By the time he was able to completely react, Snyder was pulling him out of the room and into the crowded hallway, where people moved with unhurried efficiency.

Fuck.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie?"

"Well," Angel shrugged, "in the same way you've been around me most of my life, and you led me to think we met for the first time when you found me all battered up on that sidewalk."

"There was a reason for that."

"There's always one, but that doesn't mean it's logical or true. You didn't intervene when my father abused me."

"Would you be the man you're today if I had?"

"Probably not."

"Would you be strong as you are?"

"I see your point."

"I couldn't interfere, just kept an eye on you, in case Juggernaut approached you."

"What about that idiot I ran away with? Couldn't you gimme a signal he was a piece of shit?"

"Again, no intervention. I did rescue you when you were out of his grasp."

"By my own decision."

"As it should always be. _Your_ decision."

They sat in their apartment after almost three weeks of hospital convalescence in France. Hugo had conjured a passport for him to board the 787, and Angel hoped another Japan (when the fucking airbus fell like crow poop) didn't happen.

He remembered wishing he could go with Malachi, but now he had another thing in mind.

"You need to go back to school," Hugo commented, sipping his mate.

"I missed too many days already," Angel glared profusely, "and don't change the subject."

"I'm not." The mug lay forgotten as Hugo moved to retrieve something from the massive credenza occupying most of an entire wall of their living room. He turned and offered a piece of paper to Angel. "Here. Your doctor's note. I've been in contact with your teachers so they know you were sick."

"School can wait. Who's higher than Chico?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to talk with someone higher than Chico at the Brotherhood."

Hugo gave him an unexpected answer. "That can be arranged."

"Good. You sure he didn't die?"

"I told you. We don't kill people unless we're forced to. I shot him myself, and it was a tranquilizer, nothing more." Hugo arched an eyebrow. "Besides, he lied to you."

"So did you, and I'm still here."

"Fair enough. Let's get ready. Some dancing will make you feel better."

"Hugo?"

"Yes, doll?"

"I'm in love with Kai."

The grimace and the hiss made Hugo look like some cartoon aberration (which was really hard because Hugo was truly dreamy). "I don't think that's a good idea, kid."

"When have you ever heard of a smart heart?"

Hugo nodded solemnly. "Never, Angel. Never."

"I'm going."

"No. You're not."

"I need to see him. By now, they must have told him about me. I can't bear to live if he hates me."

"Pissed off, perhaps. Hating? I don't see Angel being a hater."

"Not the moment for your smartass comments, Kovak."

"You should wait until the waters recede. Tau is foaming and asking for his head."

"It's not like he did something wrong. She can't blame him for that snafu."

"She has to blame someone, doesn't she?"

"I'd take the fall."

"No. You're not."

"Seriously, what is your problem? Where is all this caring coming from?"

"I like that little spitfire. Few people don't get intimidated by me."

"Such a fucking softie."

"You're a pain in the ass, but you deserve each other. He's a good boy."

"Stop the honey dripping, Kovak. You're making me sick."

Kovak whined, "I can't bear to live if he hates me." Then he punched Malachi on the shoulder. "Man up, we have a bitch to muzzle."

"What?"

"We're going to convince our beloved countess that she needs to let Angel the fuck alone."

The frankness and the smile surprised Malachi. Then understanding dawned on him. "You loved someone."

"I still love that fucker, and he's so close to your Angel that it's a frigging torture."

"A tortured scourger. Who would have known?"

"Stop being a pest and move your _kont_. I can get us a plane in thirty minutes."

Kovak never used words in his mother language, unless it was _kont_ , and it was so fucking close to cunt that it made Malachi's teeth grind.

"After you, mom."

"Asshole."

"You wish."

"Shut up."

Four days after his request, Angel sat on a private jet on his way to the heart of the Saskatchewan territory, to a city with the suggestive name of Prince Albert, decked in a fur-lined jacked and with so many thermal things on him he felt ready to conquest the effing Himalaya (not the Great White North).

Chico sat in front of him, sour as Heck. "You know when was the last time an embodiment walked into the Brotherhood headquarters?"

"Do I really need that detail?"

"Don't get sassy with me. 1969, exactly the last time someone tried to open one of the gates."

"And I suppose the suffering embodiment, just like me, wanted to understand what the fuck was going on, right?"

"I don't underestimate you. You're plotting something, and I don't like it."

"Well the person in charge granted me an audience. You don't have to worry about anything. The worse that could happen is that he or she says 'no.'"

"The question is if you will stop once they say no."

Angel smiled at his boss. "Let's find out what they would say first."

The long black limo sailed for about forty-five minutes, until it submerged into a secluded forest area where a mansion (built like a southern plantation and absolutely out of place in such a cold weather) awaited them with dismal stoicism.

Contrary to what Angel expected (a liveried butler, thank you very much), a handsome and youthful man in a black turtleneck and fashion forward leather jacket received them at the entrance, shaking both their hands with an excitement even more out of place than the architectural style of the house. The armed men, strategically posted, didn't escape Angel's furtive browsing, though.

Less of a museum and more of a frat house, the impressive mansion was teeming with energetic and really young-looking people of all ethnicities. Chico seemed the oldest person around, and Angel wasn't sure if Chico was even forty.

Angel was confused for a moment, but as they approached a pair of immense and ornate wooden doors (uncannily similar to the ones he'd visualized to open the gate), he felt more and more at home. After all, he wanted to be a scholar, and this appeared the place to fulfill such dreams.

Their guide opened the humongous doors without knocking, and they found themselves in what could be the modern offices of any big corporation on Earth. A giddy receptionist with bubblegum pink hair greeted them and announced them to the person in charge, pressing a button; her long purple nail like a plum about to burst.

Another surprise stood waiting for them in the middle of the cheerfully illuminated space. This boy couldn't be older than fifteen and every-day-looking to the extreme. Although well-dressed, his only distinctive feature was his violet eyes with a strange metallic shine to them. He welcomed Chico first, "Francisco, so glad to see you." Then child-boss poured all his attention into Angel. "The embodiment of beautiful Antinous. Quite handsome himself."

There was nothing sexual in the way the boy studied Angel, but Angel felt fire on his face, like a frigging school girl after receiving her first Valentine's card.

"My name is Tahl Scherver, and I welcome you to this humble house." He looked at the handsome guide but questioned them. "Can I offer you anything?"

Chico and Angel said "Just water," at the same time, and chuckled.

Tahl nodded to the not-butler behind them and pointed at the seating artfully arranged around a smoky glass coffee table. "Please, sit."

"I think it's best to cut to the chase." Angel smiled.

"By all means."

"Instead of dedicating extensive resources to protect the embodiments and the gates, why not take a more drastic approach and destroy the darn entries?"

His expression didn't change a tad; Tahl simply studied him with the same meticulous scrutiny, as if he was observing an ancient carving. Chico blurted his opinion first. "That's nuts. Two of the three gates are UNESCO protected and extremely popular touristic sites. What excuse can you conjure for such an atrocity?"

"Radical groups abound. We take out the people working at night and blow the problem to high heavens. None would be the wiser."

"Angel, you're talking about places that were constructed several millennia ago; mankind's heritage, not a random convenience store." Tahl didn't even blink.

"I know. I'm an archaeologist for Pete's sake, but that will put an end to those morons looking to access their power. Far worse things have been done in the name of peace through the ages."

"He has a point there," Chico interjected, "and now we have a third party we still don't know anything about. It's not just us against Juggernaut anymore, apparently."

"You need to choose a side, Francisco."

Tahl's comment was colored with amusement, showing for once a natural sign of his age, and (incredibly) Chico blushed.

"Do you have a council or something where you can bring this idea to?"

"We do, and we'll certainly need to take a vote on this. It'd take a while to convene a meeting, since the council is spread around the world."

Their guide entered with bottles of water. Angel opened his and took a sip just to discover Tahl's unnerving concentration focused on him again. He shook it off.

"You're welcome to stay here and campaign as the members of the council arrive."

"It'd be an honor, Tahl. Thank you very much."

Bubblegum entered the room—not as bubbly as she was at her desk and seriously pale. Nobody seemed to knock in this place. She murmured something in Tahl's ear (a hand covering her mouth) and left the room in the same serene manner, at odds with her sunny PVC dress, stripped socks, and psychedelic hair.

"Gentlemen, Juggernaut's aircrafts with bombs are approaching our perimeter. Please follow me." Tahl stood up, and the handsome not-butler was beside him instantly.

As the little boy pulled the doors open, Angel expected to find pandemonium, but (once again) contradiction bitch-slapped him. People were _not_ running and screaming. Red lights flashed rhythmically, and a soothing female voice announced over and over, in a toothpaste commercial fashion, "Not an exercise. Not an exercise."

Angel didn't know if he had become jaded whether because of the abduction, or learning that the man he loved was an agent of the bad guys or what, but he wasn't nervous—not even a little tense. The impending doom was another step on his never-ending path of severely fucked up situations.

They followed the orderly throng along dungeon-like, downward stairs to end up in a place that reminded him of a giant locker room. Tahl grabbed his arm (at least a head shorter than him) and smiled. "This shelter can withstand a nuke, and their bombs are regular ones. We'll be fine."

A loud bang signaled the closing of the enormous doors Angel had only seen the likes of in sci-fi movies. He nodded at the child-looking leader. "Thanks."

"I need to make some rounds." Tahl left him, the handsome not-butler a shadow behind him.

By the time the bombing started, and the almost hundred and fifty youngsters gasped, huddling and embracing each other, Tahl was neatly seated cross-legged at Angel's right, patting his hand.

The ground trembled and rocked and heaved. Angel felt as if he were trapped in a safe box somebody had flung over a long flight of stairs.

Tahl squeezed Angel's hand, his palm sweating. "Perhaps your idea has its merits."

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"I told you. If you wanna be part of this operation, you need to train with the mercenaries for at least a month. They'd not accept you in their ranks with less than that. It doesn't matter how good of a marksman you are."

"Fuck."

"Easy, tiger. It's not like the gates are going anywhere."

After the bombing of Prince Albert (Angel could not say the city's name without giggling), many members of the council were asking for blood. They wanted revenge, and they wanted Juggernaut's headquarters torn to pieces. Angel used this fervor to his advantage and informed whoever was willing to hear that he'd intended to use Juggernaut's own army to destroy the villains' lair while he controlled the Mnajdra gate.

This, in turn, swayed the tide in his favor, encouraging the council members to destroy the gates since Juggernaut's sole purpose was to use the spiritual armies to create mayhem and profit. Which was not the case of the Brotherhood because they had many other endeavors (both esoteric and mundane), and they would easily continue strong, even after the disappearance of the darn entries.

With that battle won, now Angel only needed to convince Hugo to pressure Snyder to let him join the upcoming incursion without a long month of nonsense.

He was eager, and he was ready.

"Since when do frigging mercenaries have scruples?"

"Nothing of the sort. They don't wanna be responsible for an untrained child. Most of these men had years of exhausting combat training and hand-to-hand expertise before joining Snyder. You can't just barge in and become one of them."

"And when did I say I wanted to be a mercenary? I just want to blow the fucking gates."

"And they're the ones handling the operation. Thus, you need to go with them. End of discussion. Take it or forget about it."

Angel growled, "You know I'm a boxing champion."

"They don't care if you can walk on water. The ability to sashay over waves might come in handy after they accept you, not before."

"What if I give Snyder a nice blowjob?" He knew he was treading in slimy territory. Snyder and Hugo were an item.

"Doll, Snyder has boys like you for breakfast, and then passes them round to his troops. Do you really want that little hole of yours abused by a hundred men, one after the other?"

Well, that didn't sound pleasant at all, but he was stubborn. "It would help me forget."

"Your love isn't in your ass. No amount of cock could erase what is in your heart. You ought to change Love for Hate. Hate him until Love is just a faded memory, one cuss at a time."

"So every time I shoot and punch and kick, I see him?"

"And yell motherfucker, assmouth, nitwit, and every name in the book."

"Sounds like a plan."

"One last thing. No BJ's, no gangbangs, no orgies, not even masturbation. Withholding satisfaction of your sexual needs would only make you angrier, and that's exactly the way to go."

"Wow, rough. Since I discovered it, I've never been even a week without enjoying Mario Palma and the Digit brothers. Uff, I'm gonna hate Malachi Neun by the end of that month so much, it's not even funny."

Hugo patted him on the head. "I'm gonna make arrangements for your departure."

"Thank you."

"The sooner you squash that Love, the better you'll be. And you need to do something with those dark roots, you look skanky."

Angel had already planned on shaving his head, so the four fingers of roots would be gone later that day. "Hugo?"

The man who had guarded him silently most of his life turned and looked at him with devoted eyes. "Yes?"

"Did you ever love?"

"I made that mistake once."

"Uh-huh, nobody climbs the rope higher, aims better, or finishes a set faster. Our only problem with him seems to be, he can't do a single one of those things quietly."

Hugo chuckled.

"It's not funny. Besides, there's an ongoing wager to see who's gonna pop his mercenary cherry."

"What?"

"Well, you know. After forty-five days with us, someone should have claimed that fine body already. Even the amazons are on the wager, as much as everybody is aware of his preferences. Such a tasty, unclaimed morsel is driving my soldiers nuts."

"He's no virgin."

"That's not the point. I've broken fights of guys vying for his attention. The last one was over who'd pay for his beer. It was such a monumental brawl—none of my men will be able to set foot on that fucking bar for at least a century."

"He needs to forget a man. Would you do me a favor?"

"Whatever you ask, baby."

Snyder's adoration was starting to suffocated Hugo. He also needed to forget a man. It was always easier to give advice than to actually follow it, and not all the rage in the world would have been enough to make him let go completely. That dull ache still reverberated on nights when the moon was a sliver. His time to move to new pastures had come. "Tell your men you did it, so they back the Hell off."

"You want me to have sex with Angel?"

"That would be his decision, not mine. Right now, he needs to be angry 'til his love fades away. I'll tell him to go along with it, so your boys can pursue other ways of entertainment."

The big blond moved from his sideways position on the tangled sheets to loom over Hugo. "Is this a good-bye?"

"I thought we had a tacit understanding we were just fuck buddies, not lovers."

"You're right." Snyder plopped on his back to take his face away from Hugo's sight. "My mistake." The voice wasn't completely Snyder's.

"Just don't force Angel."

"I'll never... I'll lie to my men, but I have no intention of claiming the boy."

"Thank you."

"I'm not doing this for you. He's a good asset. I hope he stays with us."

"He probably will."

And Hugo would lose his charge, his little brother, his almost son. He scooted until he was seated at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and palms on his face. In two days, Snyder and a group that included Angel would set up camp on the Cantabrian Mountains, preparing the destruction of the gate located at Picos de Europa National Park.

Softly, Hugo padded to the open window. The night breeze blew the curtains, and he stood there naked, watching the half-mast crescent moon. He sensed Snyder moving behind him, most assuredly to escape the room without awkward farewells.

A thick finger traced a line from his nape to his coccyx. Warm breath tickled his ear. "One last, for the road?"

Why the fuck not?

Another stab to Angel's wounded heart came in the form of an unsuspected revelation. The destruction of the gate within the Cantabrian Mountains was staged in two parts. Rig the area with explosives to simulate an earthquake, and then crash an airplane to finish the job.

The first part rattled Angel gravely.

Even if he already knew Malachi had been an agent of Juggernaut, the idea that the earthquake providing their escape in Merbha could have been a fake was demolishing. What about Martan saying that guard, Glock, had died during their escape? Was that a lie too?

Too many deceptions and no way to confront them. Nevertheless, Angel couldn't deny the way Malachi's every word had affected him from the very beginning. Nothing in the way the astronomer had touched or kissed or made love to him—felt untrue.

Angel was not able to find a single trace of dishonesty in any action, and how could he forget Malachi lying unconscious on Mnajdra?

Every new knowledge fueled the fire of his anger, and yet, there was a tiny bit of hope (huddled and with fiddling fingers) in an unlit recess of his heart, telling him an explanation must exist. Angel kept muzzling the unwanted little voice shouting that the only possible explanation would be along the same lines of unicorns and chimeras (sure he'd opened a door to try to unleash a spiritual army, but what the fuck?).

"Are you ready?"

Snyder brought him out of his reverie. They were ready to move and disable the gate in the middle of the city of Perugia. It was in a forested area so close to the center of the city, it seemed a miracle to Angel that nobody had used it. Well, first anyone needed to know it was there, then how to use it, so it was a moot point.

His backpack was full of incendiary devices; he picked it up and shouldered it. "Yeah, I am."

Dressed like your average tourist, if questioned by any local they were simply looking for a hostel and got lost. The four men left the white, three-story apartment building and chatted mutedly to avoid waking the sleeping people at midnight. There was no moon, and the clouds blocked the stars (blessed be the Goddess for street lamps).

They passed a completely out of place tunnel, not just because it didn't make any sense to have a tunnel in that part of the city, but for its absolutely not European name: Galleria Kennedy. They zigzagged through paved and stone streets, the low buildings with their earthy tones more like monoliths than places of residence.

The third man on their little expedition (McLaren with his two different colored eyes) made them turn left between two houses; a group of pines disguised a road, where a car with bright headlights and a riff of dance music with Italian vocals flew by. They crossed the cement lane to another cluster of evergreens. Not an entire mile ahead, an abandoned, roofless carcass of a warehouse awaited them.

Snyder had told Angel the Brotherhood owned the property, so nobody would think of building something else there, and they were letting the place decay at its own pace. Several tracking monitors (attached to the trees) surveyed the area, but no humans protected it to avoid suspicion. The gate was in the basement, guarded only by a bolted trap door.

As they reached the weathered walls near the entrance, Angel's hackles raised. He used his flashlight to check the loose earth and dried needles. "Stop. This looks walked on. Someone's been here recently."

A quick hand gesture from Snyder sent McLaren and the last member of their party, a wiry Somali, Sade (which wasn't his real name, but he got screwed by the songstress' song "Pearls," hence the moniker) entered, stealth like shadows.

"It must be a hobo."

Angel couldn't reconcile the image of an American homeless person with the haughty Italians. He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Narrowed eyes studied Angel. A yelp made them both put their weapons close to their faces, at the ready. Next, they heard the gurgled noise of someone trying to yell with blood spurting from their mouth. Two thuds followed fast.

Why did he think they would be able to destroy the gates without casualties? Just because the Brotherhood did everything in their power not to kill their adversaries didn't mean the Juggernaut motherfuckers would do the same. Picos de Europa had been a fortunate episode, this surely wasn't.

"I know you are there. Drop your guns and move where I can see you." The thick accent was unidentifiable. There was no time to think where the woman had come from.

Still squatting by the door, Snyder pointed to himself and showed one finger, then to Angel with two fingers. Snyder would enter first, and Angel should follow. Angel growled and negated with his head, making a hold on motion; he threw his flashlight inside in a wide arch.

In a show of skeet shooting prowess, the woman hit it instantly, amid the darkness surrounding her. There was no point in going in. Angel had accomplished what he wanted, to see how many people would shoot the flying flashlight, and the angle of the projectile.

They needed a different plan now.

If Angel remembered the blueprint of the warehouse correctly, the woman must be hunkered down close to a window opposite to them. He rolled to reach Snyder. "You noticed her location?"

"Yeah," Snyder patted his head, "you're fucking smart. I'm so used to going head on, that kind of maneuver always comes to me when I'm reviewing the action later."

"I like the head on approach." Angel nodded. "I just like to know where the fuckers are first."

"I'm waiting," the woman singsonged in her odd accent. "I have one of your boys here, if you don't show yourself, I'm going to finish him."

"How do you wanna do this?"

Pride colored Angel's cheeks, he never expected Snyder to ask for his input. He said quickly, "One should go to that window, and the other distracts her from this side."

"I'll go. You use that smart head of yours to keep her busy."

Before Snyder could move, Angel grabbed his arm. "I don't think any of the guys made it."

"I know. She wouldn't risk it." Snyder disappeared, becoming one with the night.

Angel rummaged in his backpack for the crystal balls similar to Molotov cocktails, the only difference was they ignited as soon as the glass was broken and the liquid inside entered in contact with the air's oxygen (much fancier than the kerosene or fuel concoction).

Snyder must be already perched and eager to strike. Angel peeled two balls from their protective covers and slithered through the door. His eyes were long accustomed to the darkness, and he gained the perfect position in thirty seconds. He entrusted himself to the Goddess (something he'd been doing a lot lately, without thinking too much about it) and sent the first ball rolling toward a wall with enough force to break the glass upon contact.

The explosion was far bigger than he'd thought it'd be. The woman sprang up with a volley of bullets like a Jack in the box, and Angel pitched the other ball directly at her head.

She became a living torch instantly, still shooting and yelling.

Snyder broke the window and put her out of her misery. Angel would have let her broil a little more; she had both McLaren and Sade at her feet, their throats severed.

"I'll take care of the bodies." Snyder closed McLaren's eyes.

"And I'll get rid of the fucking gate." Angel gathered all the backpacks and headed for the trap door.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IL CORPO DI UNA SENZATETTO TROVATO DOPO UN INCENDIO IN UNA PROPRIETA' ABBANDONATA A PERUGIA.

"Kovak, look at this."

"Seriously?" Kovak huffed behind Malachi. "How many times do I have to remind you that the only thing I know in Italian is _capish_ and that might be a newyorkism?"

Ah, the Dutch always miffed about his inability to grasp the intricacies of the language of Dante. Malachi activated the browser's translation mode. "Better?"

"Uh-huh. Do you think it's Lila's body?" He might not be proficient in many languages, but he was a fast reader.

"It's the location of the gate, and Lila was guarding it after the destruction of the Cantabrian one. Doesn't seem like a coincidence to me."

"Not our problem anymore, _boss_." Kovak sat on Malachi's desk, crossing his arms over his huge chest. A long strand of hair covered his left eye.

"Unless Tau sends us to guard Malta." It was a stretch of the imagination, but everything was possible with Juggernaut.

"She's really pissed off, after all the persuasion we used for her to leave Angel alone. The only way she'll send us is if she knew we were gonna get killed there. Which completely sounds like something she'd do."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"It was the only way. Besides, I don't care if she was sixteen when she wrote that letter. First rule of forbidden love: Never leave a paper trail. Faith lodged her in that boarding school as my cousin's roommate—my only female cousin so I doted on her. Tough luck Tau always followed her like a needy puppy. What _the countess_ did to the innocent girl she was, escapes me. She deserves everything Life has to throw at her."

"You can be downright evil sometimes."

"I'm a master scourger. That comes with the position."

"Yeah, yeah," Malachi rubbed a hand over his face, "I'm worried about him."

In an odd display of emotion, Kovak scrunched his own face. "Why?"

"I feel like he's involved in the destruction of the gates." Any excuse to find a way to convince Kovak to let Malachi go to Angel.

From partner, Kovak had turned into watchdog thanks to fucking Tau. The son of a bitch had disabled all the monitoring devices aimed at his Angel. Malachi didn't even have the comfort of knowing what was happening with the love of his life.

What a fucked up thing to discover when it was too late to do something about it.

"I don't see how. He'd have to convince a bunch of tight-asses for approval and funding."

"You forget the bombing of their headquarters. Sounds like a powerful incentive to me."

"True. I don't know what the fuck the big shots were thinking."

"It's a vicious cycle. I just wish they'd nuke each other and finish this gate-opening, embodiment-lust bullshit."

"Those idiots have been at it since the Dark Ages. Not an easily resolved feud."

"Well, apparently someone is doing something. No gates, no dispute."

"We're humans. There will always be some dispute."

"Okay, you win. We are fucked."

"There's still one gate left."

"Not for long, I hope."

Kovak patted Malachi's shoulder. "Come with me to the lab."

"Whatever for?" The growl let out his need for an Ambien and dreamless sleep.

"You wanna know if Angel is involved or not."

"Dear Goddess, yes."

"Then move your smart _kont_ before I change my mind."

"I could kiss you right now." Malachi jumped to his feet and circled Kovak's waist.

A fast elbow connected Malachi in the middle of his stomach. "Get away from me, you crazy fucker. I'm doing this for the kid. I'd rather be sure he's not in the middle."

"Aww, you care." Malachi disheveled Kovak's hair.

"Would you stop?"

They entered their secret lab; Kovak swiftly punched commands on a keyboard and a world map appeared in the huge screen.

"What is this map for?" Malachi had never seen this kind of map on Kovak's computer.

"It's a satellite DNA tracker, showing the location of every single LE."

"We're not supposed to have access to such information."

" _You_ aren't. I have my ways."

"Which one is Angel?"

"The prettiest one," Kovak chuckled.

"So funny," came out like a growl from Malachi. "These are mere green dots with alphanumeric combinations I don't understand floating over them. How am I to find the prettiest? Sometimes you can be really obnoxious, you are aware of that, right?"

"Ha! Just because I like the boy doesn't mean I've stopped enjoying riling you up."

Well, if the price to see Angel again was letting Kovak have his fun, he was willing to pay that and more. His irritation subsided with that realization, but he kept a narrow gaze, to not deflate Kovak's silly enjoyment. Malachi even rumbled under his breath the word, "Fucker."

This seemed to elevate the blond Dutch's spirits even more. He tapped a dot on the northern extreme of the island of Great Britain. "Right there."

"What the fuck is Angel doing in Scotland?"

"I don't know, but I have a hunch." Kovak punched more commands and the dots started moving in what seemed a backward fashion. "I'm retracing the movements of all LE's, lamentably I can't do this individually and it shows only every 12 hours, but If you notice here and..." He tapped on one key. "...the date, Angel was in the vicinity of the Perugia gate when it was destroyed."

"Shit. You think he's involved?"

"He's certainly not doing it alone. The Brotherhood has to be behind it."

"Check the Cantabrian gate." That had happened two months ago so the process was a little longer. "This is not an actual Juggernaut program, you hacked into the system."

"Uh-huh." Kovak sounded proud. "It has to be slow so they think it's a glitch, if they even notice it at all."

"Sweet Mother," Malachi sighed and ran a hand over his face when he saw Angel's dot right in the middle of Picos de Europa National Park, hours before the collision of an airplane turned into rubble the cave where the gate had been located.

"The Brotherhood even staged a 5.0 earthquake to cover their tracks."

"How do you know it was a fake?"

"No volcanoes in that area, active or otherwise. I really don't know what they were thinking."

"Maybe the crash was the _distraction_ and not how they ended the gate."

"Huh, that thought never crossed my mind."

Malachi straightened up and moved away from the desk. "Thank you, Kovak." He patted the man's shoulder. "I'm going to the observatory."

Kovak arched an eyebrow. "Not planning a surprise visit to Scotland?"

"What'd be the purpose of that? I don't know who he is with. I can't just puff out of thin air and ask for forgiveness."

"You sure about that?" Kovak narrowed his eyes this time and crossed his arms over his impressive chest.

"I'm desperate, not stupid." Malachi walked toward the door. He stopped and turned to face Kovak, "Let's keep an eye on Malta. If they are finishing all the gates, that would be the next target."

"And you're going to be there to stop him."

"I don't care about the gates. I just want Angel to be safe."

And now more than ever, Angel's safety was the only thing that mattered in the world to Malachi.

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely positive."

"But now you're an intrinsic part of the operation, you can't just pass. It's not a fucking game, Angel."

"With all due respect, Snyder, I don't give a flying fuck. I know this jeopardizes my inclusion into the mercenaries for good, but I can't go near Malta. I'm not ready yet."

"What were you thinking? That we weren't going to destroy that one?" Snyder emitted a low growl, and his face was a mask of bitterness. "Don't you want some closure?"

"I don't have answers for any of those questions right now. I just know that I'm gonna be dead weight if I go there."

"So what are you going to do? Go back to Septima Luna and go-go your way out of your misery?"

"It's a start." Angel's voice came out so small, he didn't recognize it as his own.

"Don't be stupid, kid. You have a future with us. You're a natural."

"I know, and lately, such knowledge is weighing heavily on me. I have a reason for this, but what about later? I have only killed one person so far. Then what, just for the money?"

"I can't promise you there won't be dead bodies in our wake. But it is not always about killing."

"And yet it's always a looming possibility. I don't think Antinous would do something like this."

"Listen. There is a reason why none of us remember our past lives." Snyder put his hands on Angel's shoulders and squeezed lightly. "It's a brand new canvas, unstained by your previous actions or knowledge. You're not Antinous. And you know what? Antinous wasn't either the person he was before he was born, so what's your point?"

"I need some kind of north to figure out my life."

"Then focus on the goodness and strength of your heart. You can succeed in whatever you choose to be successful, as a mercenary, an archeologist, as a damn hooker, if that's what you want. No life is free of obstacles. The point is to learn to accept and surpass them and keep going, hoping for the best. How'd you know the good times, if you didn't have the bad ones?"

"That's all nice and positive, but what if your life is one pile of shit after another?"

"Whatever happened before, you're here, moderately sane, healthy, and raring to go and be someone. Doesn't that mean it wasn't all bad, all the time? You've survived so much shit, and this is what's going to break you?"

"How do you do it?"

Snyder gave him a puzzled look. "What?"

"I know you're in love with Hugo. I see how your eyes shine, and your face brightens when anyone mentions him."

His mercenary commander sighed and patted his cheek. "You soldier on, Angel. No pain last forever. But contrary to what Hugo told you, you don't surround your pain with hatred and turn it into something ugly. You own it and you master it until it stops being a dull ache and becomes a bright reminder that you're alive, and that's why you feel it. You sport it like an award. A 'hell yeah, I fucking loved' badge of honor, you hear me?"

"I'll try."

With a curt nod that made sunny strands fall over his tanned brow, Snyder murmured before turning around and leaving the room. "You do that, kid. You do that."

An hour later, Angel felt like a king of old, holding court as more than twenty mercenaries (including some of the Amazons) came to try to dissuade him from leaving the corps. The group in charge of the Malta operation also came and, as much as they were unhappy with him for not going with them, they didn't want him to stop being a part of their forces.

But Angel was resolute. Malta (especially Mnajdra) would bring too many things he didn't know how to face, and becoming a full-time mercenary was not his destiny. He wasn't sure what his actual destiny was anymore, but this was not his way. He could go back to school and finish what he started before the darn astronomer wrecked his life. He would never be the same, but this didn't mean he couldn't be something. As Snyder had said, it was his choice, Cue-Ball around or not.

"It's done." Hugo found Angel watching a program about the discovery of a mermaid corpse with the ugliest CG animation he had never seen. And it was supposed to be a scientific channel.

"Any casualties?"

"A man from a group who sneaked up that night to make some kind of ritual in the complex. The other three are in the hospital, but stable."

"I guess we don't have to worry about Juggernaut anymore."

"Actually." Hugo rubbed the back of his neck. "There was a shoot-out with the Juggernaut people. Those men were harmed in the cross fire."

"So you think they gonna pull another Prince Albert in retaliation?"

"The feud should be over, since there are no more gates, but who knows."

Angel sighed, turning the TV off and standing up. "Let's hope for the best, then." Then his face turned into that silly question mark he usually wore when he wanted to ask something but didn't know how.

"What?" Hugo used a smile to soften the roughness of his voice.

"What happened with Snyder?"

"I started questioning my strength and my resolution."

"I don't think that's a bad thing."

"It is when you've sworn against Love."

"I see."

This had been the worst end of the year holidays since they lived together. Hugo fervently hoped that spring classes could take Angel's mind to a better place and keep him away from Hugo's amorous business. "Are you coming with me, or you're going to wait for Jack?"

"I'm going with Jack for a coffee first."

An unexpected alliance had bloomed between Angel and his Septima Luna archenemy, Jack Fermigo, leaving almost everybody gaping and rubbing their eyes in disbelief. Everyone except Chico, the cunning SOB had seen it coming and had kept it from Hugo. Both kids went to the movies together, worked out in the same gym and spent so much time in each other's business that if Hugo didn't know better, he would suspect a romantic relationship. However, their hearts belonged to other people, and they were simply finding comfort in their youth.

Before Hugo could say good-bye, Angel's cellphone rang. His friend looked at the screen with a strange face. "Hello?"

Hugo couldn't hear what the other person was saying.

"Of course. Whatever you need, _Talh_ ," Angel said the last word with an arched eyebrow aimed at Hugo. "I'll be ready in thirty minutes. Okay. Bye."

"What was that about?"

"He wants to meet me. He's staying at the Astoria." Angel sprang from the couch. "A car is coming to pick me up, and I need to get ready."

A weird feeling settled in Hugo's stomach, but he had to trust the head of The Brotherhood. A good reason should exist for this sudden meeting. Nevertheless, the minute he set foot in Septima Luna, he would ask Chico if he knew about it.

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

The last twenty hours had been a blur. Talh had offered him a trip that, as a future archeologist, would blow his mind. When Angel said he wasn't sure he would continue with his studies, Talh laughed in that uncanny way of his, where he looked more like a wise, old man than a teenager, lines around his eyes surging as he narrowed them with mirth. Sometimes Angel wondered if Talh was also an LE. That would explain a lot, but there were many wonder kids in the world. Wasn't there a sixteen-year-old giving a lecture in some German university next week?

Once Angel accepted the invitation, after a quick pit stop to get his magicked passport and some clothes, they boarded a private jet, and now they were landing somewhere in Europe. All a mystery, since Talh didn't want to tell him where they were going exactly, and an assistant did all the customs paperwork without them leaving the jet. Nevertheless, as soon as Angel saw the composition of the words on the illuminated billboards as they exited the airport, he knew where they were, and it was like a slap on his face: Merbha.

"What the Heck, Talh?"

The kid patted Angel's knee. "Soon you'll understand." He didn't even try to apologize.

The moonless sky was devoid even of clouds, just the myriad stars twinkling above them while exiting Jannar into the country, the road dark and more desolate than the sky.

Thirty minutes of silent driving passed. "Where are we going?"

"There." Talh pointed through the open window of the town car.

Angel recognized the well-lit façade as they approached the top of the hill. "Our Lady of the Chalice."

"Yes. I want to show you something you didn't have the chance to see the last time you were here."

"I wasn't exactly sightseeing."

Talh nodded, the door opening for them. He walked silently, two bodyguards flanking them. The group approached a portly, balding priest, swinging softly on the balls of his feet; arms clasped behind his back and a welcoming smile on his rotund face. The soft light pouring from the gaping entrance made his black clothes shine weirdly.

"So this is the one who stole my house shoes." The priest arched an eyebrow, but there was no heat in his words. "And left Lola stranded in the middle of nowhere." Strangely, this man had a Brooklyn accent.

"Lola?"

"His car," Talh murmured, trying not to giggle openly.

"I am truly sorry, Padre." Angel uttered awkwardly. He'd never been at ease around clergymen, for whatever reason they made his flesh creep. He tried not to think of Antinous and those who assassinated him.

"No harm done. You did leave a donation after all." He smacked his forehead. "Where are my manners? I'm Father Pietro." He shook Angel's hand.

"My mistake, Pietro. I should be the one doing the introductions," Talh commented casually, then all business as usual asked, "Shall we?"

"Of course."

Inside, the church was pretty modern, from the lighting and chromed benches with vinyl hassocks to the bronze cross-less Christ suspended over the altar. There were candles, flowers, and scenes of the Passion on the pastel walls, but the feeling was more of a festive place than that of an ancient place of adoration. Angel had been raised without going to any church, but he wasn't convinced this was the appropriate atmosphere for a religious building.

From what he had seen when he rounded the church with Malachi before they broke in, the exterior was a couple of centuries old, but inside's remodelation had been pretty recent, no doubt about that. They entered a room behind the altar containing plaster statues of saints, candelabra, and velvet curtains in several states of disarray, similar to a storage room.

Father Pietro moved several crates to uncover a trap door in the dusty wooden floor, "Gentlemen, if you please." He motioned the bodyguards to do the lifting. Both eyed Talh, and he nodded. "This entrance used to have a little more traffic. Now technology makes it somewhat unnecessary." A grin that didn't look like an apology covered Father Pietro's features. He gestured Talh and Angel to descend.

"One here, and one at the entrance. No one is to come inside the church." Talh patted something on the side of his tailored jacket that had the suspicious outline of a weapon.

"Why am I not carrying?"

"It's just a precaution."

"And I love to be cautious too, darling."

Talh smiled but didn't say a word and disappeared into the hole on the floor. Angel grunted and followed suit, leaving the padre to guard their six.

"Each level of stairs represents at least a century, and we're going deep into the earth, to a place that is five hundred years older than Athena's Parthenon," Talh explained, turning on lights in each recess. "Many milestones of humanity had their origin here. From conquests, to explorations, to wars."

"What are you talking about? What could possibly be here to set off such events?" Angel was thankful for the bright lights, but the narrowness of the rocky passage and stairs was getting on his nerves. And Father Pietro humming something that seemed a Lady Gaga's song didn't help much either.

"Something that has a lot to do with you."

"Okay, yeah. I almost unleashed a ghost army, but this creepiness doesn't suit you."

"Nah, it would be creepy if I were wearing robes and have my hood up. No offense, Pietro."

"None taken, this is a habit not a robe." Father Pietro chuckled. "Although I have several very fashionable hoodies, for when I go to town."

The steps were half the size of his feet, and he had to use both hands to keep his balance. If Angel weren't feeling the sharp protrusions of the solid walls around him, he would have thought this was a very wacky dream, with Father Pietro humming pop songs behind him, and Talh being all mysterious and cryptic.

A door that looked out of some Ancient Castle nightmare finally stopped their descent. But continuing with all the inconsistencies of a Freudian bubble, it was opened by punching a code on a pad embedded on the wall right next to it. A sad click signaled the entrance was ready to be breached. Anticlimactic, since Angel was expecting a death rattle as the door magically opened.

The circular room sculpted on the rock had electrical lighting, and there was an area covered in monitors, keyboards and cameras, like some secret war room. In the middle of the room a solid platform contained a rock chalice with a blue flame contorting into the face of a woman, then something similar to an island, then a child, then a bird so little it could have been a hummingbird, and finally a lotus flower. It was a never-ending slow repeating cycle.

"You have got to be kidding me," Angel blurted when he realized that the monitor were analyzing the images, doing face recognition and displaying copious data.

"In ancient times, someone had to draw the woman's and child's faces, analyze maps, and figure out to what land the animal belonged, and what god the last symbol represented."

"So this is how you learn about the living embodiments?"

"Yes. According to our analysis, the next living embodiment will be born in Trinidad and Tobago, see the island? Its symbol is a hummingbird, and it's the embodiment of a Bodhisattva. In approximately two weeks, based on the time the chalice started its emanation."

"I can't believe this."

"The discovery of America was prompted by the need of the Spanish Empire to have a living embodiment to open a gate, so they could use a possessed army to destroy the Moors and reclaim their possessions."

"Sweet goddess cradling baby Jesus." Angel ran a hand over his face. "What's if the LE is premature?"

"The flame extinguishes the second the LE breathes for the first time. If something happens during childbirth and the LE dies, it turns red. After that, there is no more communication about him or her from the chalice."

"One would expect that, after being alight throughout the entire pregnancy." There was a strange tremor in Father Pietro's Brooklyn cadence.

Angel touched Talh's arm and smiled. "Thank you."

"Do you think we should destroy the Chalice?" Talh asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Why would you do that?!" Angel exclaimed, horrified.

"No more gates, there's no need for this place." Talh almost shrugged.

This didn't seem like Talh or The Brotherhood at all. They were scholars. Yes, they did blow the gates to smithereens, but there was a reason for that. Even though Angel couldn't understand how no one had come up with that solution before him. Perhaps it had been raised but never followed through.

"I think that, if the chalice depended on the gates to exist it would have died with them. Don't you think? I have a feeling it's the other way around. The chalice was first." Then another thought occurred to him. "Do you even know how a gate is created?"

"Hmm, the oldest text says something about the sacrifice of an embodiment. But it was written in _Koiné Greek_ and has missing parts. After that, it's mostly erudite speculation from Ancient Rome to the Middle Ages."

"I guess Our Lady of the Chalice was built upon a dismantled temple."

"Standard procedure. You know how Christianity worked at the beginning."

Father Pietro cleared his throat.

"Please, Pietro. These things are widely documented. There's nothing sacrilegious about the truth."

Angel couldn't imagine this teenage boy having a confrontation with a priest. "And the story of the Chalice?"

"The first recount of the Chalice is through Spartan narrators and how they used it to destroy Xerxes' army. No way to trace it before that." Father Pietro offered with a truly disappointed look on his face.

"I say, if the Chalice is independent of the gates, its eradication is unnecessary, especially if no one knows how to summon a gate."

Talh nodded happily and hugged Angel. "You answered correctly."

"Huh?" Angel pushed Talh at arm's length. "Was this a test?"

"Yes. We want you in The Brotherhood's Council. You just had to prove you will act using logic and not out of hatred or vengeance." Talh had such a bright smile, it made him look even younger than he already seemed. Like a toddler offered a humongous lollypop. "Do you accept?"

"That depends..."

"On what?" Talh was eager.

"On whether or not I can still be an archeologist."

"You sure can. The Brotherhood will pay for everything, and you can live wherever you choose."

Father Pietro was fidgeting with his hands. "Father you look really uncomfortable. Is something wrong?" Angel asked. Normal behaving clergy were bad enough; a fidgety one set all Angel's alarms off.

"I have some other visitors coming tonight also, and I have a suspicion they are already here."

"What?"

"He can't tell us who it is. This is neutral territory. Anyone who knows about the Chalice can come and look at it. It's either Juggernaut or the U.S. Government," Talh explained.

"Are you serious?'

"Extremely. Let's go. We don't need to cross paths with the others." Talh grabbed Angel by the wrist and hauled him like there was no tomorrow up to the church.

As they hastily drove away, a black SUV with the emblem of Juggernaut passed them in the opposite direction, and Angel could have sworn Countess Tau flipped him a very angry bird.

"Congratulations. This means you're technically my boss now."

Hugo couldn't be sure if the strain on Chico's face was sarcasm or utter disappointment, as he shook Angel's hand.

"Don't you dare, Chico. I owe you two so much, I could never act like I'm your superior."

"But you know that everything we did was because you are an LE."

"Yes. It was your job, but you still did it with kindness. You could have been dry and acted like I was a burden. I never felt that way."

"Well, you are a good kid. It's easy to be nice to you."

"I don't want anything to change between us. I hope you let me come and help with Septima Luna." Angel winked. "You know, be a go-go boy and do bartending. All free of charge!"

Of course, Jack had to offer his opinion. "But we mere mortals are not sharing our tips with you."

Jack didn't know of Angel being the living embodiment of Antinous, but knew he was now part of the board of directors of the conglomerate that owned Septima Luna on paper, thanks to a long-lost relative. They told him L and E were acronyms for the family name.

Angel gave Jack a bear hug and kissed him on his rosy cheek. "I'd never mess with your tips, boo."

"Ahem." Hugo wasn't ready to accept that out-of-nowhere friendship. "I'm gonna go check on the regular employees. See you guys." He left the manager's office without looking back.

The club was in full swing, jam-packed as usual on a Saturday night. Hugo zigzagged between people grabbing private parts, or making out, or neon-colored wallflowers—ready to be plucked, when he saw the last person he wanted to see crossing the threshold into his domain. "You." The word echoed behind him, and Angel appeared and stood beside him.

Martan Kovak approached them, his devastating smile firmly in place. Gorgeous as ever.

Son of a bitch.

"Good night, gentlemen. Looking good, Hugo. Can I have a word with you?"

"Wait a minute. You know each other?" Angel asked when he was able to stop gaping.

"Yes. We know each other from way back." Martan smiled again. "I'm glad you're fine, Angel, but I need a moment with _Señor_ Fox here."

"What's going on, Hugo?" As a prosecutor, Angel would have sounded less accusatory.

"Not much. He's that mistake I told you I committed once."

"Oh my," Angel sputtered, covering his mouth. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Don't worry. I can take care of this SOB."

"Always charming, baby." Martan grabbed Hugo by the arm. "Are we going to make a scene?"

"Never. Let's take this outside." Hugo turned to Angel. "It's all right. Go to the bar and have fun."

"Okay." Angel didn't look agreeable, but he walked away.

Martan and Hugo marched to the parking lot. People were smoking and being generally loud. "Tell me you're dying and you came to make amends," Hugo asked, the irration of is tone not a bit fake.

"Whoa. I came to make amends, but I'm not dying."

"Then there's no point."

"Why?" Martan's face lost some of it composure, and something Hugo thought he would never feel again surged like a punch in the guts.

"'Cause I want you dead so I don't have to see your ugly face again, motherfucker," Hugo growled.

Recovered, Martan smirked. "You gave yourself away by calling me ugly. Not in a million years you would really think that." And the self-absorbed moron winked.

"I said I was not going to make a scene, but I'm considering leaving you here all black and blue and in serious need of a cast on each of your limbs."

Martan Kovak, supreme ruler of all jerks this side of creation, did the most unexpected thing. He threw himself at Hugo's feet like a supplicant, clasping his arms around Hugo's midsection, his face dangerously close to a traitorous cock. "Please forgive me. I've never stopped loving you. And seeing Malachi suffer so much for Angel made me realize what a stupid ass I am."

It seemed like the world stopped for a minute around them; all stilled and the muffled thump-thump of the music became very distant, until the people on the parking lot started clapping and whooping.

"Yeah, forgive the man, dude!" said a random patron.

Hugo wasn't going to cave so easily, but he needed to take the situation someplace else. He was about to help Martan to his feet when a shocked "Hugo?" startled him.

Oh fuck. Snyder.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

That had been one of the weirdest things Angel had ever seen. And he'd seen spectral warriors coming out of the earth.

Martan and Hugo, and _Snyder_?

Angel could understand Hugo and Snyder, but Hugo and Martan Kovak? That was beyond comprehension, even if according to Hugo, Martan had been the love of his life. Although, based on his own experience (really short and muddled experience), it wasn't that easy to get rid of love.

The trio had been gone for a week, ensconced in some undisclosed location. Luckily for Angel, curiosity wasn't one of his weaknesses. Those three would probably come back with more hematomas by square inch than the pregnant heroine of a _telenovela_ after rolling down a flight of stairs.

"Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit."

Angel snorted, because he could totally see some man smearing butter over Jack's backside, especially Chico. "What the Heck, Jack? Don't sneak up on me saying silly things like that."

"I'm preventing you from being sneaked upon. Look who's parting the waters again." Jack pointed toward a disturbance in the seemingly chaotic but still coherent undulation of the dancing crowd.

Malachi walked toward him wearing a midnight blue V-neck with a plunge so deep he might as well be shirtless. The pentagram on his neck flashed happily thanks to the strobe lights. All muscles and form-fitting ensemble, Malachi smiled at him. Angel's knees became molasses, and his hands wanted to disappear inside the back pockets of those jeans and grab hard glutes he remembered excessively well.

"There is a sign at the entrance, right by the wide, beast-looking bouncer stating 'we reserve the right to refuse admission,'" Jack spat out, putting himself between Angel and Malachi.

"I haven't done anything to be refused." Malachi answered Jack but kept his eyes on Angel.

Before Jack could say another word, Angel swallowed the hard lump in his throat and touched his friend's shoulder. "I'd handle this, boo. Thank you."

"You sure?"

"I got it."

Jack left, not without making first that signal with his fingers pointing at his eyes and then at Malachi's silently saying, "I'm watching you."

In other circumstances, the gesture would have been hilarious, since Jack was the poster boy for twinkness, almost a perfect third of Malachi's total weight; weight that Angel suddenly needed on top of him.

"Can I have a drink?" Malachi tried to charm his way using his dimples.

"Sure. I created a cocktail in your honor, actually."

"Really, what is it?"

"M.N.K.A. Malachi Neun King of Assholes, you fucker."

"If the worst thing that happened is a drink calling me an asshole, I consider myself a lucky bastard."

" _King of Assholes,_ " Angel reiterated the specifics of Malachi's kingdom. "I've also contemplated a bullet to your kneecap. That would really make me happy."

"You have been around Hugo Fox far too long."

"More than Hugo, it was a hundred and fifty mercenaries." Still, Angel mixed a Sodomized Zombie and slammed the tall glass on the bar.

Malachi drank the whole thing in one healthy gulp, then looked at Angel dead in the eye. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"That's gonna take a lot of groveling, and I'm talking the face on the floor kind."

"I can do that with you on top of me."

"Don't try to be cute. It doesn't suit you." But Angel couldn't suppress the half smile from blooming. Fuck, he'd missed Malachi like crazy; no amount of name calling and destruction could completely obliterate him from Angel's heart.

"In all honesty, what happened the other night sealed my resolution to come and beg for forgiveness." Malachi took one of Angel's hands, stationed on the wrong place (a.k.a. over the counter). "I could not live if something happened to you. You shouldn't have thrown yourself at that man like a fucking superhero."

"What was I to do, scream like a pussy and let him stab that poor girl?" Angel pulled his hand away. "Not on my watch, mister."

"You weren't even supposed to be here."

Angel didn't want to analyze how Malachi knew all this. "I was, and it's done." But the suffering surfacing on Malachi's face almost undid his decision to be rude until the darn astronomer left the premises.

Malachi drew from his pocket an old-looking envelope and gave it to him. It only had one word written as addressee, "Mala." That meant a bad woman.

"What is this?"

"A letter from my father, please read it. It'd give you an idea of why I did what I did."

The single page had been done in utilitarian, blocky handwriting. And it had been read a thousand times, by the looks of it.

Dear Son:

If you're reading this, I died before I had the chance to have the most important conversation with you. I thought I had more time to let you be young and careless before putting the heavy weight of knowledge over your shoulders.

One day, the same people who probably got rid of me will come to you and ask for your allegiance, and you will feel that it's your duty to me to follow my steps. As your father, I encourage you to do so, but not for the reasons I did it, because I was wrong. So wrong, it has been a constant pain in my conscience since the day you were born.

Grow to be a strong man in body and mind. Hone your abilities and aim always for the stars, because when the time comes, you will be the only one able to destroy them from the inside.

War is in man's heart like red is his blood, but that doesn't mean that the war of one is more righteous or sacred than the other's. The power to control an army doesn't make your cause correct or just, simply gives you the ability to subjugate those against you.

These people would try to use you as a tool to achieve supremacy, and you must be the cog to destroy the machine. Do everything in your hands to thwart their plans, no matter what and who you must forget on the road.

I know I'm dumping on you the most fucked up task ever, and if I could only hope that these people would never contact you, I wouldn't. But I'm sure they will seek you out, because they have their eyes on you since before you were fifteen.

Now, because you're reading this, I must have failed, and the only inheritance I'm truly proud to leave you is this mission, to undermine those I was part of all my life.

I love you, my Mala.

With trembling hands, Angel folded the letter and put it back inside the envelope, avoiding eye-contact with Malachi. His mouth was dry, and he wanted to yell and kick things.

"In this letter was where my father said he loved me for the first time and also used the word fuck around me."

Well, this just sucks.

"I want to believe you. But after so many lies, how do I know this thing is not just another deception?"

"I have something else. Well, a someone, who can irrefutably vouch for me. I'm a man in love, but I didn't delude myself thinking this would be easy."

"So you came with backup."

"As a former mercenary, you know that's the way to go."

"I'm still a target, just another mission?"

"The most important mission of my life. Not even what's written on this letter matters anymore. I only need one thing to survive and it's you."

"That's a messed-up weight to put on somebody else's shoulders." Almost like the one Malachi's father had dumped on him.

"I want us to hold each other's lives, Angel. I want to be yours, and I want you mine."

The letter had been a game changer, and the voice Angel heard in the back of his mind was Snyder's, not Hugo's. "Don't surround your pain with hatred and turn it into something ugly."

"Okay. Who's this person willing to corroborate your story?"

"He's outside, waiting for us."

"All right. Technically, I don't work here anymore, but I cannot just jump out of the bar. I haven't helped the boys during this conversation. Gimme an hour, and I'll find you outside. I need some space now."

"Thank you."

"Don't say those words yet."

Malachi nodded and did a slow about-face, his slumped shoulders completely at odds with his usually imposing frame.

Angel found Malachi, arms crossed and slouched against the backseat door of a car he didn't recognize. As soon as he noticed Angel approaching, his posture improved and a shy smile flourished on his lips.

"I'm all ears."

Malachi knocked on the top of the car, and the tinted window rolled down.

"Hello, Angel."

Of course, Talh was a minor and couldn't enter the club. Then Angel realized that Talh was part of the Brotherhood, and there was no reason for him to be around Malachi.

"What is this? I thought Malachi was with Juggernaut."

"Would you please enter the car, and we can discuss it while we go for a ride?" Talh gave him one of those wise old man grins. "Mr. Neun, I'll give you a call later."

Summarily dismissed, Malachi rested his eyes on Angel for a moment, supplicant and remorseful. He opened the door for Angel, taking the decision away from him. And Angel was thankful for that.

"Drive to the beach, Mike." Talh said as soon as Angel was seated beside him. Mike was the no-butler who had received Angel at The Brotherhood's mansion in Prince Albert, turtleneck outfit included.

"What's going on, Talh?"

"You read the letter." It wasn't a question but a statement. "I assure you it's real. Malachi Neun is not what you can call a double agent, but he is in our side." He patted Angel's knee. "It's not like he comes to us with intelligence. However, he does everything in his power to wreak havoc in Juggernaut's plans. Falling in love with you wasn't part of his program, but nobody tells the heart what to do."

"You believe him when he says he loves me?"

"I do."

Perhaps this was the moment to ask that burning question. "Are you an LE too?"

Talh chuckled. "Took you long enough. I thought we were talking about you and Mr. Neun."

"Don't change the subject."

"Okay. Yes. I have the soul of a beloved and revered Roman emperor."

Holy fuck.

"But not your Hadrian. And even if it were Hadrian, it would not matter between us. Reincarnation love stories only happen in literature, movies, or songs. In real life, you might encounter people from your past but obviously without knowing it, perhaps to complete karmic interactions, not to continue a great romance."

Well, that was kind of a bummer. Angel could have denied it a million times, but the romantic in him wanted a transcendental love.

"Don't get me wrong. You can have the love to end all loves, but in this life as part of every other thing you need to accomplish as human—to have joy and passion and fulfillment."

"I see."

"I encourage you to give Mr. Neun the opportunity to prove himself worthy of your time and love."

They arrived at the beach, and the car stopped. There were bonfires, and people dancing and laughing. Angel had completely forgotten it was the night the vast population of Brazilians living in the city celebrated _Nossa Senhora dos Navegantes_ , one of the many Catholic representations of Yemanjá, the goddess of the sea.

And, by the goddess, he needed to open his heart, accepting what Destiny offered him.

"Let's celebrate the Queen, Talh."

The wise boy beside him winked. "With pleasure."

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"It's my fucking fault."

"Would you stop?" Malachi held Angel by the shoulders and shook him. "There was no way for you to know that would happen."

"Darn. I thought this shit was over." Angel shrugged Malachi off and dropped into the nearby couch.

Malachi knelt between Angel's legs. It was really hard to watch him like this and not have a clue how to help him. "Baby, we all thought it was the human sacrifice of an LE, not the selfless act of one. You couldn't know that saving that woman would create a gate."

"I acted out of instinct, and every time I do that, shit flies left, right and center." Angel sighed and ran a hand down his face. "What are we gonna do?"

There wasn't much to do besides guarding the new gate. At least it was in the Brotherhood's territory. "You have to focus on making our love work, instead of worrying about a gate to the otherworld."

"Seriously? That's how you gonna make me forget about it? Pinpointing the fact that it could unleash a catastrophe?"

The horror in Angel's face would have been adorable, if Malachi weren't aware of his lover's frustration. Talh could have waited a week to let them have their _reconciliation_ in peace, without thinking of threats to humanity and souls of former gods. Bad timing of the gate, to emerge on the fifth day after the assault.

"Angel, please." Malachi caressed Angel's cheek. "Many esoteric and paranormal mysteries exist on Earth. The new gate in Septima Luna is just one more thing to add to that list. You can't blame yourself for something that could have happened anywhere. A dozen LE's are scattered around the world. Thanks to you, we can be vigilant here." He kissed the furrowed brow. "I'm glad that fucker didn't hurt you more and it was just a scratch."

Frankly, the bastard would be dead if that girl hadn't pressed charges and he was protected in jail. The ferocious hunter in Malachi would not have rested until the idiot had paid for hurting Angel.

"Yeah, but even that little spilled blood brought forward the darn gate."

Talh had just left, after giving them a lengthy explanation about the surfacing of the damn gate, and what the shamans and clairvoyants of the Brotherhood had understood about it. Something they hadn't been able to do before because the others were so ancient. This was unprecedented and exciting for them.

"The council has concluded it wasn't the blood but the act of saving the girl. Enough of this. We cannot turn back time, and you need to stop blaming yourself, once and for all." Malachi started unzipping Angel's jeans. The body under his hands became stiff. Narrowed blue eyes and a hardened face stopped him.

Still, Malachi knew how to make Angel submit. He pushed his body up, seeking Angel's sweet, plump lips.

"If you start fuck-kissing me, I swear I'm going to punch you. Trust me, a broken nose is not gonna make you hotter."

"You're not gonna love me less, anyway." Malachi brushed his mouth over Angel's, and his little spitfire moaned. He took advantage of that tiny slip to probe with his tongue.

The most delicious gate in the universe opened to accept him. His hands roamed Angel's flanks under his shirt. Malachi stroked warm and inviting skin until Angel was writhing, lost in his touch. The decadent waltz their tongues danced was just the prelude to the undulations that would affect their bodies as soon as they got rid of their clothing.

Sapphires flashed as Angel broke their kiss. "You're not completely forgiven."

"I wasn't expecting that." Malachi was the luckiest man in the world, and he knew it. He'd not fuck up this opportunity.

"You haven't groveled yet."

Malachi grinned, unable to stop his mouth. "You mean in the sense that I haven't given into excess and debauchery?"

Angel punched Malachi on the shoulder. "No."

"Oh, I'll be at your feet soon enough." Malachi stood up and offered his hand to Angel. "C'mon."

The fleeting emotion on Angel's face wasn't hesitation but disappointment. "We don't know when Hugo will come. What if he bursts in in the middle of it?"

"I don't see Hugo bursting in anywhere, unless he's raiding a place."

Angel chuckled and accepted Malachi's hand.

Pulling Angel up, Malachi circled him with his arms. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you." His lips coasted over Angel's.

"Darn astronomer, I love you too." Angel grabbed Malachi's butt. "Let's storm each other's bodies right now."

Malachi studied Angel with that determination that used to make Angel uncomfortable. They were in his room. A room he wasn't ready to leave behind to start anew with Malachi somewhere else. The deceptions had been too many, and they were not easy to forget, but for the love he felt, he would do his best to accept that life wouldn't always deal him messed-up hands (a.k.a. shit piles).

Healing began with embracing his reality—he was in love. Angel was ready to believe this was good, until proven otherwise. And all the things Angel saw swirling in the chocolate abyss of Malachi's eyes helped to ease his doubts, to appease his reticence.

The back of Malachi's thick fingers caressed Angel's sides as he helped him out of his T-shirt. Never losing eye contact, Malachi unbuckled his belt, undid the zipper, and helped Angel to step out of his jeans.

On his knees, Malachi unbuttoned his emerald shirt, a little smile forming on his thin, lovable lips. Once free of the restraining long-sleeved piece of clothing, Malachi folded his body and kissed both of Angel's feet. "May everything sacred bless these feet which have guided you to me."

Shocked and humbled, Angel was about to open his mouth to protest when Malachi kissed his thighs. "May everything sacred bless these legs which support you on the voyage we embark together."

Ready for the attention, Angel's cock jutted proudly and throbbed lightly with Malachi's kiss on its tip. "May everything sacred bless your manhood which gives me bliss when we make love."

Pulling his body upward, Malachi kissed over Angel's heart. "May everything sacred bless this heart so it might accept the immensity of my love."

Softly, Malachi kissed one palm, then the other. "May everything sacred bless your palms which command my skin." He kissed each of Angel's biceps. "May everything sacred bless these arms which hold and comfort me." These actions weren't just unwonted but frightening.

The gentle touch of lips felt like a storm rattling Angel's already sensitive body. "May everything sacred bless these lips which speak my name and give me tenderness." Goosebumps exploded as Malachi kissed each of Angel's ears. "May everything sacred bless these ears which welcome the love for you in my words."

Angel's nose was next. "May everything sacred bless this nose which breathes in the aromas of nature, the presence of the gods, the fragrance of our passion."

A kiss was placed on each of Angel's eyes, and he heard deep, resonating words as he opened them. "May everything sacred bless these eyes which behold the spark of the gods within me." Cradling Angel's face with both hands, Malachi kissed his forehead. "May everything sacred bless your mind so we can share our ideas and be fruitful." With his thumbs doing circles over Angel's cheek, Angel looked upward. "Bless him, Mother, Father, for he is your son and my love."

When they locked eyes again, Malachi's eyes were glistening, a dam ready to overflow. And Angel knew (by the blurriness of his own vision), he was in the same state.

"Should I do the same?"

"Someday you'll be ready."

Angel could only nod. This felt like an enormous step, and Malachi was right, a day would come when Angel could embrace the love he felt freely, without apprehension.

Malachi wiped his eyes with the back of his hand in a swift motion and chuckled. "For now, I'm going to take care of this bad boy." He descended unhurriedly until he was in position to attend to business. His smile was radiant and engaging. "The Universe relish in our pleasure," he held the shaft at mouth level, "and pleasure is what we gonna get."

Warmth enveloped his cock, and Angel became blind, knees weakening. With his body trembling, he only had time to use Malachi's powerful shoulders as support, allow to be invaded, and let the pleasure (the Universe so relentlessly demanded) drown him.

He let his remorse go. The cock entering him was not wrapped in latex, but in light, in pure bliss that drove him crazy, and needy, and utterly desperate to be dominated and destroyed. Malachi couldn't close his eyes to simmer in the delicious pain assaulting him and miss the wonderful grace of Angel's features, enraptured and vulnerable.

Hairless balls brushed his entrance, and Malachi clenched secret muscles, savoring the thickness invading him. Angel shuddered and hissed, "Do that again."

"What? This?" Malachi rocked minutely as he squeezed again.

"Oh, fuck, yes." Angel spread Malachi's cheeks, trying to bury more of himself inside the already cramped space.

Goosebumps covered Malachi's arms as he caressed Angel's shoulders. Straddling was his favorite position, not just because he could control the penetration but because the sensation of impalement touched something within him he had never been able to completely solve.

Without thought, his hands sought Angel's strong neck, coasting over that perfect throat that, minutes before, had given him a run for his money. His thumb brushed the magnificent Adam's apple, and Angel closed his eyes, enthralled.

"Can I move now?" Malachi's voice was throaty and not completely his.

Even more altered, Angel's came out, "Please, be my guest."

A circular movement of hips accompanied the liberation of a few inches, and then Malachi descended, every fiber of his being welcoming the expansion. He found his rhythm, undulating, rocking, squeezing.

Angel tweaking his nipples added to the furious tide violently swaying him.

And when he thought he was about to shatter in a million pieces, Angel's warm hands steadied his motions, minimizing his swinging rotations to make him appreciate the shallow stabs, as Angel took over the administration of their love mechanism.

Burning sapphires studied him as the piston moved. The cock inside him was just a metaphor for the true intimacy of the moment; for Angel's eyes deep penetration into Malachi's very soul, where no one had been before, and no one else needed to enter again. The phrase came from that now-illuminated place, so hidden inside him; he thought it was lost forever. "I'm yours."

Those words broke a dam, as blunt nails clawed Malachi's hip, and Angel screamed his name—like a wounded animal.

And the howl of the beast was Malachi's undoing. Rope after thick rope of seed landed between them, covering abs, pecs, and the bobbing edges of Angel's throat. He sealed their lips, milking away the last throes of Angel's climax, absorbing the muffled cries of Angel's devastation, keeping their bodies as one—glued by their spent passion.

Little by little, the everyday forms of the room intruded their tiny garden of ecstasy, bringing reality to their hazy surroundings. Malachi found a wicked gleam in Angel's eyes in tandem with a mischievous grin flourishing on the handsome face.

"Now it's your turn to fuck me until I swear the world is flat."

Malachi couldn't resist, and asked, "And then fuck you again to make you accept it is round?"

"Exactly."

### THE END

### ###

# COMMENTS

I took geographical liberties with this work since for optical telescopes; most ground-based observatories are located far from major centers of population, to avoid the effects of light pollution. The ideal locations for modern observatories are sites that have dark skies, a large percentage of clear nights per year, dry air, and are at high elevations. Thus, the only places that could have this kind of observatory would be islands, and even though the Observatory in Mount Pumpernickel is relatively close to the ocean, a less than two-hour drive, such a place is nearly impossible in main land.

### NON GODE L'IMMUNITA' ECCLESIASTICA:

### DOES NOT ENJOY ECCLESIASTICAL IMMUNITY

In medieval times, the Ecclesiastical Authorities enjoyed complete autonomy from civil authority, thus their temples could not be searched. Accords were signed to leave a certain amount of churches out of the general law to avoid the abuse by wrongdoers —like Our Lady of the Chalice, which is a fictional name for a real church.

In 2009 a protective shelter was installed over the Mnajdra complex to keep it from the elements and help tourist to appreciate more the beauty of the archeological site. The zip lining commandos would not be possible today, but that's the beauty of fiction!

# GLOSSARY

Guayabera: is a men's shirt popular in Mexico, Central America, the Caribbean, Southeast Asia, and Zimbabwe. It is also known as a "Mexican Wedding Shirt".

Merhba: means welcome in Maltese.

Jannar: means January in Maltese.

Xott: means dry in Maltese.

Telenovela: Latin-American soap opera.

Nossa Senhora dos Navegantes: Portuguese for Our Lady of Navigators.

Kont: means ass in Dutch.

Koiné Greek: ("common", also known as Alexandrian dialect, common Attic or Hellenistic Greek) was the common supra-regional form of Greek spoken and written during hellenistic and Roman antiquity. It developed through the spread of Greek following the conquests of Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC, and served as the common lingua franca of much of the Mediterranean region and the Middle East during the following centuries. Based mainly on Attic and related Ionic speech forms, with various admixtures brought about through dialect levelling with other varieties

# About Gabbo de la Parra

Born a Sagittarius in the fabulous year of the Rooster of '69, at the hour when his cat was about to become a complete dragon, Gabbo de la Parra landed on the Caribbean Coast of the outlandish Republic of Panama to start the adventure of life.

Love and the Internet brought him to Middle Tennessee to embrace the American Dream and his husbandly romance. Writing has been an important part of his life since a very early age, and it's a pleasure to share his stories with others thanks to the wonderful opportunities this land provides.

Gabbo cherishes Life with a southern gentleman in a townhouse close to a lake (crowded with the spirits of his characters) with their pets: black esoteric kitty, Luna; white emo-twink Maltese, Chance; and street-smart Russian Blue, Bella.

# Other books by Gabbo de la Parra

### Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover my other books

### Bridegroom from Heaven (Spaniards # 1)

### The Stallion & the Dragon (Spaniards # 2)

### Connection

### Prince of Atlantis

### Nashville Dreams

### Immaterial

### Darkest Before Dawn (The Masked Man Serenade)

### How I Lost It On Planet X

### Tarnished Toys

### Nor Sub Nor Dom

### The Road from Maryville

### Wand-Losing & Other Things You Shouldn't Be Doing

### Cenotaph

### From Nova To X

### Another Dawn On Planet X

### Meridian

# Get in touch with Gabbo de la Parra

### I absolutely love that you took the time to read my book. Stop by and say Hi!

### Twitter: @GabbodelaParra

### My blog: Manly Romance by Gabbo

