“Because you wanted to go,” Val interrupted, and David gave him a petulant nod.
“Byzamoth made a deal with me. He said if I told him where she was, he’d take the charm and give me Heofon.”
“And you believed him?” Serena gaped at the man’s stupidity.
“He acted like he didn’t care about the necklace. I thought he just wanted the charm. Then he got interested in the artifacts, and decided to use you to get them, too.”
“So he was after the tablet and coin.”
Val laughed bitterly. “Of course. Once David spilled the beans about those, Byzamoth would have realized that shutting down the Harrowgates would seriously disrupt his war. The gates between Heaven and Hell could still have been opened with Heofon, but demons wouldn’t have been able to get to the Earth’s surface to make war on humans. At least, not until they destroyed Heaven.” He made a sound of disgust as he rounded on his son. “You idiot. You realize that even if you had gotten the necklace, you would not have been allowed to keep it.”
David’s chin came up in defiance. “The holder of Heofon is given the charm—”
“If angels deem that person worthy!” Val roared. “You are not worthy.”
“I never have been, in your eyes.” David stalked toward the door, and after a brief nod from Val, Shade let him go—but not before whispering something in David’s ear that made his knees buckle. Once he caught himself, he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Val sank heavily onto his chair, didn’t look at Serena. “I don’t have the words to explain,” he began. “So ask what you need to.”
Too in shock to speak, Serena said nothing. It was Shade who broke the ice.
“This is better than a soap. Not that I’d know.” He propped himself against the doorframe again. “So, Aegi… why didn’t you ever tell Serena you whipped up her baby batter?”
Yes, she would like the answer to that oddly phrased question. Val buried his face in his hands, and she had to strain to hear him.
“How could I tell you when I couldn’t even come clean with my own family? I honestly didn’t think they knew. And after Patrice died, there was no point in saying anything. I knew that with the nuns, you’d be safe and well-cared for.” He lifted his head, watched her with bloodshot eyes. “I was a coward. And because of that, my son hates me. Hates his own sister. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“What will happen to David?” Shade asked, in a tone that said he’d handle things if Val’s answer didn’t satisfy him.
Val took a ragged breath that ended on a sob. “It’s a matter for The Aegis.” He came to his feet. “I’ll be back.”
Shade waited until Val was gone, and then muttered, “Family sucks sometimes.”
God, he had that right. “About family… I think you should know the reason Wraith hasn’t been to see your sons.” Shade opened his mouth, but Serena cut him off. “He’s afraid, Shade. He’s afraid to share himself, like each piece he gives to someone is going to be a piece that goes missing when they turn on him. He feels like he’s lost you and Eidolon to your mates and children, and you were all he had.”
“Why do you care?” he asked gruffly. “After what Wraith did to you, you should hate him.”
“I also love him, and I can’t turn that off.” She sighed and flopped back against her pillow, the day’s events sapping what was left of her energy.
Shade crossed the room and sank down on the bed with her. Gently, he took her wrist, and his tattoo—dermoire, he’d said at one point—began to glow, and a pleasant tingling sensation spread through her veins.
“Funny things, humans,” he said under his breath. “Just when you think they’re all a bunch of morons, a smart one shows up and proves you wrong.”
She smiled drowsily. “I do believe that was a compliment. From a demon. Go figure.”
“Yup. Just when you think we’re all a bunch of morons…”
One shows up and makes you fall in love with him.
Twenty-eight
This charm thing was so cool.
Wraith and Reaver approached the Dome of the Rock with ease, practically untouched by the army of demons who swarmed around it. He could have shapeshifted into some heinous demon to make himself less conspicuous, but there was no fun in that.
No, he walked straight through the horde like a spear through flesh, his long leather trench coat flapping at his ankles, the comforting clank of his weapons ringing in his ears. Thoughtful of his brothers to bring his fighting gear.
Several demons attempted to assault him—not because they viewed Wraith or Reaver as enemies, but because demons were generally just assholes—but thanks to the charm, something always got in the way of their attacks. They’d stumble, strike another demon, miss him completely… yeah, the charm thing was way cool.
Reaver pulled him to a halt at the top of the steps, just beneath the arched colonnade outside the golden-domed mosque. “If this goes badly for me, you know what to do.”
Yeah, he knew. Reaver had told him that only an angel could kill an angel… with one exception. If one drained an angel to death, they would temporarily inherit the ability to destroy another angel. The catch was that no one could drain an angel of blood—unless the angel volunteered.
Wraith hoped it didn’t come down to that. He kinda liked Reaver.
“Got it,” Wraith said, and started walking, but Reaver stopped him again. “Geez, what this time?”
“Kynan. You must give Kynan the amulet. Not anyone else in The Aegis. Understood?”
“No.”
Reaver made an exasperated noise. “This is all fated,” he said, waving at the army around them. “I don’t know how this will end—the battle is fated, the outcome is not. But Kynan’s fate is tied closely with these events.”
Wraith rolled his eyes. If there was anything he hated more than cryptic shit, it was fate shit. “Whatever. Let’s go kick Byzamoth’s ugly, and I mean ugly, ass.”
They entered the Dome of the Rock, easily shoving away the burly, horned Ramreel guards. They didn’t have to worry about the fallen angel’s minions following; few demons would set hoof in so holy a building. They feared God more than they feared any fallen angel.
Even Wraith twitched uncomfortably in the mosque, where bright tiles and glass mosaics spelled out Qur’anic verses and religious depictions. Byzamoth stood near the center next to the giant Foundation Stone, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, an evil, ecstatic smile curving his mouth.
The sounds of battle erupted outside—Wraith’s entrance had been the signal for The Aegis and militaries to launch their attack.
“Byzamoth.” Reaver moved next to Wraith, his skin glowing with a freakish white light.
Byzamoth’s eyes flew wide open. “Reaver?” He shifted his gaze to Wraith. “You. You live?”
“Nope. This is all in your imagination.” Wraith stalked toward him. “Hell of a way to get back into Heaven, don’t you think? When all you have to do is walk into the noon sun.”
“Fool. That only works if an angel hasn’t yet entered Sheoul.”
“My bad. I’m rusty on fallen angel rules. Don’t suppose they’ve got an Idiot’s Guide for that.” Wraith studied his nails. “But one thing I know? If you die, you’re gone for good. Poof. No redemption, no reincarnation, no nothing. Buh-bye.”
He launched a morning star so fast Byzamoth didn’t have a chance to block it. The star caught him in the shoulder, went right through and buried itself in a pillar.
Byzamoth yelped in pain, but he recovered in an instant. “Did you think it would be so easy?” He came at Wraith, feet not touching the ground.
Reaver met him head on, and they crashed together like two bulls. Light streaked with black voids swirled around them, encasing them in a supernatural funnel cloud as they grappled. Wraith hurled one of his daggers into the mix, aimed at the back of Byzamoth’s neck, but the weapon was caught up in the tornado and flung to the far side of the building.
Blood flew from the two angels, staining the vortex a gruesome red. The whirlwind imploded. Reaver flew through the air, coming down in a heap that slid across the floor, leaving a crimson trail.
Wraith attacked Byzamoth, ripping powerful punches into the male’s face. A knee to the groin earned a satisfying roar of pain. A bolt of energy slammed into Wraith’s chest, knocking him into the railing surrounding the Foundation Stone.
Wet tearing sounds filled the mosque as Byzamoth shifted into his grotesque gargoyle form. His one wing rose up high over his head, the clawed tip coming down to clamp on Wraith’s head.
Pain screamed through Wraith as sharp, serrated claws dug into his skull. Blood streamed down his face, and rage streamed through his veins. Snarling, he dropped to his knees and lunged sideways, breaking Byzamoth’s hold. He rolled, avoiding what would have been a bone-breaking stomp to the hip.
Wraith pivoted on his hand, sweeping his legs out for his own devastating kick. He caught the male in the knee, and though Byzamoth grunted, he didn’t go down. Scrambling to his feet, Wraith dashed blood out of his eyes. In the distance, the air sang with the clank of weapons, the thud of fists striking flesh, and the screams of demons and humans in mortal pain.
“It’s beautiful music, is it not?” Byzamoth edged sideways, keeping his body between the Foundation Stone and Wraith. Lightning flashed and thunder rocked the ground. Outside the dome, an evil storm spun up black twisters and blood-red rain. Through a single hole in the Heavens came a golden stream of light, but in a heartbeat, the roiling clouds extinguished it.
Byzamoth opened his fist to reveal Serena’s necklace and a vial of blood. Wraith’s blood. “The sun has cast its first and last rays. It’s time. Reconsider your fight, incubus. Stand with me, and you will reap unimaginable rewards.”
“As tempting as it sounds to be your bitch,” Wraith drawled, “I’m going to have to turn down that offer.”
He launched himself at the angel. Byzamoth’s wing caught him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance, but somehow, he stayed upright. They fought like fiends, with Wraith coming out on top every time they broke apart.
But Wraith was bleeding badly, one leg wasn’t working right, and he was sucking air with a lot more effort than he’d like.
Byzamoth looked as if he’d gone for a pleasant jog. “I can’t be killed, filthy demon.”
“You’re pretty judgmental with the demon thing,” Wraith said through panting breaths. “Given that you are a demon.”
Evil laughter bounced off the walls of a place so holy that they seemed to writhe under the sound. “I’m better than demon scum.”
“Holier than thou is kinda funny coming from a fallen angel.”
“I tire of your infantile humor.” Byzamoth popped open the vial of blood and whirled toward the Foundation Stone.
“No!” Wraith struck Byzamoth in the back, propelling him into a support column, but blood splashed from the vial and fell in thin streaks across the Foundation Stone.
Outside, the storm hushed. Inside, it had just begun.
The blood on the stone bubbled, releasing black steam into the air. Byzamoth struggled toward it, kicking at Wraith, who held onto his ankle. The fallen angel held the necklace stretched before him, trying to reach the blood.
“Damn you!” Byzamoth slammed his fist down on Wraith’s skull like a hammer on a nail. Wraith crumpled to the ground, his legs not functioning. Byzamoth moved to the stone.
“Wraith…” Reaver’s hand closed on his ankle. The angel had somehow crawled from where he’d fallen, his body a broken mess. “Drain… me.”
Wraith brushed blood out of his eyes. Holy hell. If Reaver died like this, his soul would suffer eternal torment. “Let me try—”
“There’s no time!” Reaver rasped. “You must slash Byzamoth’s throat… and then fill the wound with your own blood after you drink mine. Hurry.”
Byzamoth was holding the necklace in the steam rising up from the blood on the stone, and the building had begun to rock. Reaver had exposed his throat. There was nothing to say. Nothing at all.
Wraith sank his fangs into the angel’s jugular. The blood hit his tongue like an electric shock and began pouring down his throat.
“No!” Byzamoth flashed to Reaver, grabbed the other angel by the arm, and threw him like a Frisbee through the doorway. “I want him dragged to the depths of Sheoul!” he screamed, and from nowhere, a horde of imps swallowed up Reaver and dragged him away.
Snarling, he turned on Wraith, crunching a foot into Wraith’s chest. Wraith launched into the air and hit the far wall with a crack of ribs.
His vision swam. Byzamoth darted back to the stone. Hand shaking, Wraith fished in his weapons harness for something to throw—anything. Outside, the sounds of battle became a screaming roar, metal on metal and metal on flesh growing closer. And then Kynan was there by Wraith’s side.
“Need Reaver,” Wraith gasped. “His blood.”
“Take mine.”
Wraith shook his head, trying to make sense of what Ky had just said. “I don’t need to feed.”
“I know. You need to drain an angel. Angel blood runs through my veins. It won’t be the same, but we’re losing, Wraith. Either way, I’ll die.”
“No.” Wraith grasped another throwing star and tugged it free of its housing. “I’m not done—”
“Wraith!” Ky’s voice was hushed but urgent as he grabbed Wraith’s shoulders and shook him. “Damn you, vampire. If you want to see Serena again, you have to do this.”