Dark Kings

by Sadie Moss

  “I’m a very busy man, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Beckett adds, settling back into the chair behind his desk like he’s already moving on and is bored with me. That stings, oddly, in a way I don’t quite understand—the idea that I’m boring him. “So, since we are at an impasse, I suggest you go on about your day. I’m sure there are plenty of other rich snobs who haven’t bought an island yet who you could con out of their hard-earned wages.”

  He gives me a smirk, like he thinks he’s hilarious with his little quips, then does a shooing motion toward the door with his hand.

  The gesture is clear.

  I’ve been dismissed.

  Chapter Seven

  Trinity

  I leave, because I’m so burning mad that I don’t know what to do with myself.

  No wonder no other angels wanted this mission. It’s going to be nearly impossible. I’m on my first sin out of seven and already I’m feeling annoyed and exhausted. What if the others are even worse and harder to deal with?

  Natalie, the secretary, is perfectly nice about pointing me toward the nearest restroom, where I brace my hands against the sink and take several deep, steadying breaths. That helps me to calm down like it always does.

  Squaring my shoulders, I look at myself in the mirror and take myself in.

  I’m not a bad looking human, if I do say so myself. I like how I look. But there’s something missing; this isn’t my full, angelic form. And I miss that. I miss looking myself in the eyes and seeing myself. Seeing all that I am.

  I unfurl my wings, shaking them out a little. Now I look more like myself. My true self.

  “You can do this,” I tell my reflection, putting on my most determined expression. If I’m going to get back to Heaven, get back home, then I can’t give up. I have to do this. I have to convince the seven sins to side with us in the war, and to fight against the corrupted.

  “What is home worth to you?” I ask myself. “Huh?”

  Everything, I answer silently.

  I can do this.

  Rather than marching back into Beckett’s office with guns blazing, I go downstairs to the lobby of the building where there’s a ridiculously overpriced coffee shop. Then I order some food and a drink, and I wait.

  And… wait.

  Beckett works late. Later than usual, which is saying something. Since I’ve been trailing him invisibly for a week, I’ve got his schedule down pretty well. The last rays of sunlight are fading outside the large windows when Beckett finally emerges from the lobby elevator.

  Ah, ha! Gotcha, sucker!

  I walk out as well and start to follow him down the street.

  “Hi!” I give him a beaming smile as I pull up beside him, hustling to keep up with his long strides. I’m still annoyed, but I’ve calmed down from our earlier confrontation, and I’m determined not to let him get to me. I’m going to succeed, even if it means wearing him down by annoying him every single day.

  “You again?” Beckett shoots me a dismissive glance from the corner of his eye. “Do you not take a hint?”

  “Nope!” I shake my head. “I admit I lost my temper back there in your office, so I took a little walk—and here I am again, ready to discuss how much you’ll be donating to the HDR.”

  “I’m not donating anything.” Beckett keeps walking, and he’s really quite tall, annoyingly so. I have to practically jog to keep up with him.

  I put on a burst of speed and slip in front of him, walking backward so fast I pray I don’t trip and go sprawling. “Listen, you’re a very busy man! I get that. You’ve got a lot of things to focus on and think about.” I narrow my eyes. “But I don’t. I just have this one, single mission, which is to convince you to donate. So which of us do you think is going to succeed?” I smile at him. “The guy who’s got a million things on his mind and doesn’t need one more problem on his plate? Or the girl who has nothing but time on her hands?”

  Of course, I don’t know how much time I’ve got. Do I have a time limit? I’m not sure. But the sooner I can complete this assignment, the better, as far as I’m concerned.

  Beckett stops walking, and I nearly crash into some poor guy behind me as I skid to a halt too. The imposing sin gazes at me, and he actually looks almost impressed. “Listen, Ms. Pope—”

  That’s when I notice an odd smell.

  Huh. It’s… it’s distasteful, coating the back of my throat and making my nose wrinkle. I know that smell, know it and instinctively hate it like all of my kind do. It’s the smell of sulfur.

  Sulfur means one of the corrupted are nearby. But that can’t be possible. Sulfur this strong?

  It smells like an entrance to Hell is being opened up right nearby, but that’s all wrong. Earth is neutral territory! Demons shouldn’t—

  Suddenly it doesn’t matter what demons should or shouldn’t be doing, because in the alley right next to us, the ground opens up as if chunks of rock are falling down into molten lava.

  A blast of heat and an awful, indescribable stench hits me, and demons emerge.

  Oh, no.

  Yup. This is totally a portal to Hell. This shouldn’t exist, since Earth is neutral territory. This isn’t where the war is being fought.

  Why are these demons doing this? What’s going on?

  There’s a street full of people just a few feet away. If I don’t stop these demons, I have no doubt they’re going to hurt innocent people and wreak havoc on the city.

  I have to do something.

  It’ll mean showing Beckett my true form and letting him see what I really am, but that matters less to me than stopping these corrupted before they hurt anyone. The demons might even be after Beckett, although who knows why that would be? He’s not exactly on their side, but he’s not on our side either.

  Gah. I’ll worry about why later.

  For now, I step into the alley, unfurling my wings as I prepare to fight.

  Demons are called corrupted for a reason. They look sort of like humans, if those humans were badly diseased. Puss oozes out of them from huge boils and lesions on their flesh, and they have blackened gums and milky eyes. Through the cracks in their skin, something like lava glows an unearthly color, and their blood is black. They’re absolutely disgusting.

  They can seem frail, since they look like they’re one good cough away from keeling over and dying, but they’re a lot stronger and more powerful than that. They can and will mess you up. They’ll mess me up for sure, if I’m not careful.

  “Go back to where you came from!” I yell, striding forward. “This is neutral ground! Go back!”

  Of course, they don’t. Whatever brought them here, it wasn’t an accident; it’s not like they just made a mistake and took the wrong exit off the turnpike.

  Okay. We’ll do this the hard way.

  From out of the ether where it resides, I summon my angel blade.

  Anderson returned this to me along with my wings and my powers, although I have to admit, I was really hoping I wouldn’t need it.

  I twirl the glowing blade, everything else forgotten as my focus narrows on the demons before me.

  I haven’t used my blade in thirty years, and I was never a soldier to begin with. But I’ve got to do this now. I grip the hilt tightly and lunge for the first demon, the closest one.

  The demon shrieks and tries to sink its claws into me, fangs appearing out of nowhere. Yeah, like I said, they’re tougher than they look. I yell in pain as the claws sink into my shoulders, stabbing wildly. I catch him in the gut, making dark blood spurt everywhere, then I fling the dead demon to the side and take on another one.

  These are the lower level demons, not anything special or extra-powerful. Which is good for me, because it means I have a chance of taking them all out. Hopefully. Bigger, stronger demons would eat me for lunch.

  As if they can smell my fear, two of them come at me at once. I swing my blade hard, yelling and beating my wings, using them like limbs. My wings are strong—they can knock out a human and generate some go
od wind too. I use them like I’m trying to throw punches, and I’m able to fend off the two demons who attacked me, but they’re tearing at me with their claws, and there are more of their kind right behind them.

  I’ve taken one out, but there are five more. They’re bleeding where I’ve slashed them with my blade, but I’m really worried that I’m bleeding too.

  I feel like I’m burning.

  So hot. So tired.

  I can’t keep this up. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight off an endless stream of corrupted. I have to close the portal, to stop more demons from getting out.

  My angelic blood is pumping, burning through my veins, and I stretch out my free hand, screaming with exertion. I’ve never closed a portal before. I don’t even know quite how, but I’m an angel—demonic stuff is literally the antithesis of me. I should be able to do this.

  My body feels like it’s on fire, but as I pour all of my strength and angelic power toward the portal, the molten edges of the sinkhole begin to harden to dark stone.

  It’s working. It’s working!

  But with all my energy focused on closing up the breach between Earth and Hell, it leaves me vulnerable to the demons who are literally ripping into me. I’m bleeding everywhere, bruised and battered, my poor wing feathers being ripped out, and if I don’t hurry up, there’ll be no point to this because I’ll be dead.

  The portal hardens and smokes, emitting a low rumbling sound until at last it closes.

  I stumble, the energy draining out of me. The world spins.

  So this is what passing out feels like, I think vaguely.

  Then I don’t think anything at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Beckett

  Demons really are a fucking nuisance.

  Disgusting. Every last one of them. And they definitely don’t belong on Earth.

  I’m still reeling a little from the several surprising turns this evening has taken as I stride toward the angel’s collapsed form.

  I suspected from the moment she stepped into my office this afternoon that she wasn’t human. Supernatural creatures have a certain power about them that they can’t quite hide from others of their kind. But that she was an angel?

  Well. I didn’t fucking see that coming.

  She managed to take out more of the invading demons than I would’ve expected, but then she turned her focus to closing the portal, letting the creatures overtake her as she did.

  Several of their dark forms hunch over her body, howling and tearing at her.

  I should just leave her. Leave this entire mess, go back home, and have a glass of whiskey.

  But for some reason, I find myself continuing on the path toward the collapsed angel. The moment I reach her, I grab one of the demons by the throat, yanking it away from her. Blood tips its claws, and it slashes out at my arm.

  Motherfucker. I tighten my grip until I can feel its throat give way under my palm. Bones snap. Muscles collapse. Then I drop the dead demon and go after the other ones, letting greed for their deaths fill me until the last one falls.

  My suit jacket is torn in two places, and blood seeps from the slash marks in my forearm. Sirens wail in the distance, and I look up, cursing under my breath. Most of the humans in the area fled when the angel began battling the demons, but someone obviously called the cops.

  The last thing I need is to be associated with this fucking mess in any way. My business relies on my human counterparts trusting me, and evidence of the supernatural has a way of spooking people. That’s why the government usually covers up these kinds of incidents, finding ways to brush them off with a thoroughly dull, completely false explanation.

  I have no doubt they’ll clean this all up and blame a broken water main or something wrong with a subway line.

  Still, I certainly don’t want to be here when the police arrive.

  Turning on my heel, I begin to walk quickly toward the mouth of the alley. But once again, my body seems to have a mind of its own. My footsteps slow, and then stop. I glance over my shoulder at the small figure lying ashen-faced on the ground.

  The girl. Or rather, the angel.

  She looks so small and helpless like this. She was beautiful in my office. I could smell the desire on her. It made me want to walk across the room, seal my mouth over those pert lips, slide my hands over those curves, and steal every ounce of innocence in her.

  But that was before I knew she was a creature of Heaven. Believe me, I have just as much disdain for the angelic as I do for the corrupted. I want no part in their pointless fucking war, and I don’t trust any of them.

  Besides, there are plenty of beautiful women in the world. My brothers and I have had many of them, but there are always more—an endless supply. And those other ones won’t be angels.

  My lip curls as my hands clench into fists. She came to me. Masquerading as a human, with a thinly veiled excuse for being in my office, she barged into my life. Why?

  I want an answer to that question.

  And as much as I despise all Heavenly creatures, she doesn’t look like an annoying angel right now. She looks human. Bloody. Weak.

  Dying.

  Damn it.

  I scoop her up and carry her from the alley as the sirens grow even louder.

  As I step out into the street, I ooze a bit of extra charm. My brothers and I are all quite gifted at getting people to listen to us. To fall under our spell. Business deals? Convincing someone to commit murder? Urging them to lie or cheat? It’s all the same. We just pluck on that particular sin of ours.

  When I dial the strength of my sin up too much, utter chaos will break loose. But if I ratchet it up just enough… it will charm the people around us into focusing on their own greed instead of wondering why I’m cradling a bleeding woman to my chest.

  The angel is very small in my arms. Fragile. She weighs next to nothing, except for her wings. Those droop down to the sidewalk and drag a bit over the cracked cement as I make my way quickly toward my building.

  They’re… I wouldn’t say they’re beautiful. They’re just fucking wings. And yet, I find myself running a finger over a single white feather in the elevator on the ride up to my apartment.

  Once I reach my floor, I lay the angel down on the couch, ignoring the bloodstains that immediately decorate the white fabric. I’ll get a new couch tomorrow.

  What did she say her name was?

  Oh, right. Olivia fucking Pope.

  She’s still out cold, and she looks worse than she did in the alley, the gaping wounds in her flesh more obvious now. I want her to wake up, if only so I can tell her what a ridiculous fucking fake name she picked.

  I shouldn’t have brought her back here. I can practically hear my brothers admonishing me in my head. You took in an angel? Like some kind of stray kitten off the street? What kind of fucking moron are you?

  Deciding not to answer that question, even in my own damn head, I rise smoothly and stride into my office. I have several safes hidden around the apartment, and I don’t just keep money in them. There are things much more valuable than that.

  After opening the safe near my desk, I pull out a small green vial that fits easily in my palm. It cost me an arm and a leg to get this from the witch I knew. Witches don’t give up their potions easily, and most of them don’t take cash as payment.

  My fist closes around the vial, and I grit my teeth. It goes against everything inside me to give up something I worked so hard for. Something that’s mine. But I’m greedy for answers too, and the only way I’m getting those is if the angel lives. If she wakes up.

  Decision made, I head back into the living room, ignoring the strange twinge in my chest as I take in the girl’s limp form. I kneel down beside her and gently prop her up, cradling the back of her head in my palm. She’s warm. Warmer than humans. Her angelic blood, probably, rushing through her veins as it tries to heal her.

  Nearly all supernaturals have heightened healing abilities. We heal faster than humans, but we’re by
no means invulnerable. Her blood’s magic won’t be enough to save her—not without intervention.

  Quickly, I pop the small cork from the vial and pour the healing potion into her mouth then tilt her head back, making sure she swallows it.

  The effect is almost instantaneous. Her back arches as she sucks in a large gasp of air, and a strange glow emanates from her wounds as they draw closed, the dark flesh knitting itself back together. The ashen color leaves her cheeks, and her eyelids flutter.

  Then, slowly, she blinks up at me.

  “Wh-where am I?”

  She sounds like she’s frightened but trying to hide it. I can admire that. Fear itself isn’t a weakness, but letting it rule you is.

  “My apartment.”

  Her eyes widen, a little more clarity returning to her brown irises. “I can’t be here! I have to—”

  She tries to sit up, but I push her back down with a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No you don’t, little angel.”

  She bats my hand away. “I’m not little.”

  “Compared to me you are.” There’s a good foot of height difference between us. At least. “You’re going to stay here. And you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.” I stand up. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.” She cranes her neck to stare up at me, her eyes large in her heart-shaped face. She’s fucking gorgeous, even covered in blood and grime from her fight. “No, thank you.”

  “Liar. Of course you do. Everyone wants something.”

  It’s my job to find out what it is. Then make them go after it. After more and more and more of it. Too much of it.

  Her eyes narrow, and she ignores my earlier command, sitting up and pivoting on her shapely ass to drop her feet to the floor. Her business suit is shredded, in much worse shape than my own is, and the large gashes in the fabric reveal tantalizing glimpses of mocha skin.