Chapter 5

Every night Azrael dreamt of death. Death that came, slowly, painfully. Death that he felt every bunch, or stab, or shot or any of the many other ways to cause an agonising demise. Every morning he awoke in bed, knowing he'd have to feel the pain of death again later. Except the deaths he witnessed weren't his own. These were the deaths of people he knew. People he loved. That was his greatest curse.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing it were a blade over his enemy's throat instead. Most of the day had already passed. He'd heard the time seep away, a poisonous tick-tock in his mind, every beat of the clock a mocking reminder of mortality and pain. The experience of death would come for him.

"Damn you," he muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses.

"Which poor bastard are you damning this time?" a familiar male voice asked from behind him.

Azrael's motions didn't slow at Sterling's unwelcome intrusion. Up. Down. Up. Down. For two hours he had worked out his frustration and anger on the punching bag, the treadmill and now the weights. Sweat ran from his bare chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in clear rivulets. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was physically, but his emotions were only growing darker, more powerful.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. Ignoring his friends' question.

Sterling sighed. "Look. I didn't mean to interrupt, but something's happened."

"So take care of it."

"I can't."

"Whatever it is, try. I'm in no shape to help." These last few weeks very little was needed to send him into a killing haze where no one around him was safe. Even his friends. Especially his friends. He didn't want to, never meant to, but was sometimes helpless against urges to strike and to maim.

"Azrael-"

"I'm at the edge, Ster," he croaked. "I would do more harm than good."

Azrael knew his limitations, had known them for thousands of years. What he would have given for a single day of calm. No overpowering desire to hurt others. No battles within himself. No worries. No death. Just ... peace.

"It's not safe for you here," he told his friend, who still stood in the doorway. "You need to leave," he lifted the silver bar atop its perch and sat up.

Sterling threw a rag at him. "I'll take my chances."

Azrael reached behind his back, caught the white cloth and turned. He wiped his face. "Water."

An ice cold bottle was soaring through the air towards him before the second syllable left his mouth. He caught it deftly, moisture splashing his chest. He drained the icy contents and studied his friend.

As usual, Sterling wore jeans, his signature graphic t-shirt which today read '1f u c4n r34d th1s u r34lly n33d t0 g3t l41d' and a pair of cobalt blue Converse sneakers. Dark hair, curled at the ends to brush the tops of his ears and collar, framing a face mortal females considered a sensual delight. Along with his smart, rather nerdy personality, they didn't realise the man was actually a devil in angel's skin. They should have, though. Sterling may be the Warrior's resident scientist and computer geek, but he was also one of their best fighters. He practically glowed with irreverence, and there was a devilish twinkle in his hazel eyes that declared he would laugh in your face while cutting out your heart.

To survive, he had to find humour where he could. They all did.

Like every inhabitant of this desert compound, Sterling had his curse, or 'gift' as some had the audacity to call it. He might not dream of loved ones deaths every night like Azrael, but he could never venture outside during the day, much like the stories people told of vampires.

Sterling's totemic ancestor was the stars.

He hadn't seen the sun in over five hundred years, nor had he been with a woman seriously since. He'd learned his lesson well when he'd fallen in love with a woman who one day had ventured out during the day to visit the markets. She been robbed and beaten on her way home.

Sterling and the woman had taken the bonding ceremony, so when she was attacked, Sterling had felt her pain. He raced out to save her, under the midday sun, and had almost died in the process. His burns so severe that no-one was sure he'd be able to heal. He hadn't wanted to live after his lover had died anyway. Sterling had been unable to reach her in time and she had died from her injuries.

Azrael had never seen his friend truly happy since.

"Five minutes of your time," Sterling said, his determination clear. "That's all I'm asking."

Azrael ignored the request. If he didn't allow himself to be asked for a favour, he didn't have to feel guilty for turning it down. Jack-knifing to his feet, Azrael tossed the now wet rag and empty bottle into the nearest hamper. He strode to the far end of the room and braced his hands above his head, leaning into the semicircular alcove of glass windows and staring into the night through the clear partitions.

He saw Paradise.

He saw hell.

He saw freedom, prison, everything and nothing.

He saw ... home.

Built into the side of a massive slab of rock on the outskirts of Coober Pedy, the Warrior's fortress was quite a sight to behold. Half the compound was situated above ground, atop a towering rock. Through the massive floor to ceiling windows of the gym, he had a direct view over the desert and surrounding town. Lights glowed brightly from the houses down below, pinks, blues and purples illuminating the velvet sky and framing the red dirt planes and rocky outcrops that stretched as far as the eye could see.

While the other half of their building was constructed deep into the rock and earth. Made from chiselled rock and compacted soil, the underground rooms served several purposes. Not only did they offer great protection from the Warrior's enemies but temperatures also fluctuated significantly in this part of the country, so living underground helped moderate the temperatures. And as proven by Sterling, certain members of their troupe also needed protection from the sun during daylight hours.

Here, he and the others had a modicum of privacy from the rest of the world. Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to answer a barrage of questions. Why don't you age? Why do screams echo through the land at night? Why do you sometimes look something other than human?

Here, the locals maintained their distance, awed, respectful. "Angels," he'd even heard whispered during a rare encounter with a mortal.

If only they knew.

Azrael's fingers dug brutally into the harsh stone of the windowsill. Lately, the dreams had been morphing. Becoming more violent and bloody. More real. If that was even possible. Seeing the destruction made him feel violent, as if the nightmares urged him to hurt, maim and kill.

Then throw in the glorious dreams of his mysterious little spitfire. It was no wonder he was on edge. Azrael didn't even know why he was having dreams of his curvy brunette who made his blood heat and his body burn.

That statement made him pause. Now he was referring to the woman as 'his'. He didn't even know her. Didn't even know if she was real. Although he certainly hoped she was. And why he was dreaming about her was beyond him. He normally only had dreams about people he knew. Not to mention the fact that they were always violent, death dreams.

"You've been staring out that window for a while," Sterling said. "Aren't you even curious as to what's happened?"

Azrael blinked as he was dragged from his thoughts. "You're still here?"

His friend arched a dark brow, "I believe the answer to my question is no. Are you at least calm now?"

Was he ever truly calm? "As calm as a creature like me can be."

"Stop whining. There's something I need to show you, and don't even try to deny me this time. We can talk about my reason for disturbing you along the way." Without another word, Sterling spun on the heel of his Converse sneakers and strode from the room.

Azrael remained in place for several seconds, watching his friend disappear around the corner. Stop whining, Sterling had said. Yes, that's exactly what he'd been doing. Curiosity and wry amusement pushed past his lethal mood, and Azrael stepped from the gym into the hallway. A warm draft of air swirled around him, thick with moisture. He spied Sterling a few feet away and stalked forward, quickly closing in.

"What's this about?"

"Finally. Interest," was the only response.

"If this is one of your tricks..." Like the time Sterling had ordered hundreds of blow-up dolls and placed them throughout the compound, all because Brenton, their resident ladies man, had foolishly complained about the lack of female companionship in town. The plastic women had stared out from every corner, their wide eyes and 'let-me-suck-you' mouths taunting everyone who passed them.

Things like that happened when Sterling was bored.

"I wouldn't waste my time attempting to prank you," Sterling said without turning to face him. "You, my friend, have no sense of humour."

True.

As Azrael kept pace, they walked past modern white walls interspersed with large glass windows that allowed plenty of natural light into the upper levels. Up here, bedrooms were filled with sleek contemporary lines and bathrooms were decked out in marble and stainless steel fixtures. This part of their fortress was newer, having been built long after the underground section and undergoing many renovations over the years.

"Where is everyone?" Azrael asked, only then realising he hadn't spotted any of the others.

"You'd think Brenton would've been shopping for food, since our fridge is as bare as old Mother Hubbard's cupboard, and that's his only chore, but no. He's out searching for a new girl to 'play' with. The rest of our crew of miscreants are on their way to the conference room for the meeting I called in five minutes.

"Why? What's going on?" he demanded.

"Oh, now you're interested all of a sudden? It really does do my heart good. You know, it'd almost be worth the tantrum you'd throw to draw the suspense out longer."

"Sterling," he growled. The warning in his tone evident.

The man had the gall to laugh at him then. "Alright, alright," he chuckled. "I give."

He paused, obviously thinking the effect was dramatic. It really only made Azrael want to sock him one. Friend or no friend. "We have intel on three SS assassins returning here from America."

That was it? He'd been pulled from his sweat-a-thon in the gym for this? They often found Seventh Sanctum assassins coming and going through the airports. It wasn't a big deal. "And?"

"And," Sterling said, with a flourish, "they had a man with them."

"So? It was probably just another one of their 'pets'."

"Ah, but this wasn't just any man, and he wasn't a pet. Or at least, he didn't appear to be."

God, his friend knew how to push him buttons, "What's your point, Ster?"

Sterling sighed theatrically, "Mate, you take all the fun out of life."

Right so, not only did he have no sense of humour, but he also took all the fun out of life? He was just one big ol' barrel of laughs.

"Yeah, yeah tell me something I don't know. Would you just get on with it so that I can get back to the gym?"

"Well, we have security footage of said male starting to struggle like a mad man in the middle of Sydney Airport."

So not a minion then, Azrael thought.

"He was probably just a new one that they were bringing in to train." Azrael almost shuddered, that wasn't a fate any man wanted to go through. And he certainly wasn't afraid of a whole lot.

"Oh, no doubt," Sterling said with a matter of fact nod.

"So what's the big god damn deal? They're not doing anything out of the ordinary."

"That in itself is not a big deal, no. However, the fact that the man they're bringing into the country is the son of an ex-SS assassin, is a big deal."

"WHAT?" he all but bellowed.

"Ah, I knew you'd see my point eventually," Sterling said with a grin.

Azrael threw an arm out, halting the other man in his tracks. "Stop, rewind and explain. How in hell does an assassin have a son?"

"Well, when a man and a woman love each other, they get married and they touch-"

Azrael growled, a feral animal sound. "Ster, you know what I mean."

"Like I said, no sense of humour. Anyway, I believe the mother defected from the society around the time the son was born and has been on the run ever since."

"How did we not know about this?"

"It's something they've kept very secret, mate. I gather it's a shameful subject amongst society ranks."

"Ok, then how do we know this now?"

"I took a little peek into the records of people going in and out of the country, as I always do, and found the chartered plane the SS was using with three assassins and one man on board. I caught a picture of him on the security footage and ran a search. His mother was Selene Daniels."

He didn't remember her. But that wasn't a surprise. In the thousands of years he'd been alive, he'd fought more SS assassins than he could ever hope to remember. One face blurred into the next in his mind. They all simply took on the same evil mask in his memories. He found it hard to believe that any assassin could care enough for their child, and a son at that, to defect from the society and remain on the run for the rest of their life.

"I've never heard of an assassin leaving the society."

"That's because, to the best of my knowledge, which is incomparable I'll have you know, it's never happened before or since."

They started walking again. Making their way from the upper levels, where the gym was located, down modern white and glass stairs built into the red rock, to the lower levels. Down here, stone walls interspersed with opal stretched at his sides; sconces glowed, pulsing with light and fire, twining shadows with gold. The Monster House, as Sterling dubbed the place, had been built thousands of years ago, the town of Coober Pedy having been established around it early in the last century. As time passed, they had modernised it as new technology became available, but the age still showed in the crumbling rock and the scuffed floors.