Son of Saints: A Dark YA Fantasy Adventure: Renegade Guardians: Book Two

by Kyra Quinn

  For the next many miles, Viktor and Jett marched in tense silence. Viktor could feel the weight of unspoken questions lingering between them. Jett shot him a few curious questions, but he said nothing aside from the occasional direction or tip for navigating the path ahead.

  Viktor didn’t mind. He’d always assumed a time would come when Jett wanted to know more about his unusual circumstances. Other wolves might have lived without allegiance to a pack, but none kept company with fallen angels and girls with shadow-tainted souls.

  As he shielded his eyes from the intense glare of the setting sun with the back of his hand, Viktor toyed with how to answer Jett’s questions when they came. He didn’t enjoy lying, not to someone who had fought by his side on multiple one occasion. Secrets had a way of infecting friendships and festering until the relationship withered away and died.

  But in Viktor’s life, the complicated truths had a nasty habit of pushing people away rather than drawing them closer. He could think of few instances where letting his guard down hadn’t led to judgment or outright rejection. His relationship with Remiel complicated his life long before they’d taken up companionship with a blood mage and a camphelem. If he found the words to tell Jett about Remiel and the truth about their tangled past, how did he explain Lili?

  A small shiver ran over his skin as Lili’s face floated back into his thoughts. He shook his head and attempted to banish her from his mind. Demons could attack again at any moment. His focus needed to remain on his mission. He couldn’t afford the distraction of remembering how soft her hair had felt between his fingers, or how cold her lips were when they met his, or how beautiful her silvery eyes looked filled with tears—

  “More demons will come for us,” Jett said, his voice pushing away all thoughts of Lili. “We’ve killed off more of their kind these last few weeks than the Archangels have in years.”

  “I didn’t try hard to cover my tracks. I wanted them to come for me. It saves me the trouble of hunting one down to interrogate.”

  Jett fixed his gaze off in the distance as he responded. “Makes sense. Say, when did you kill Andras?”

  Viktor’s heart raced. “You know of him?”

  “Who doesn’t? He’s one of the three marquises of Shadow City, not to mention his little sideshow for the passives. You never mentioned killing him.”

  “I cannot take credit for Andras’s death, much as I wish I could. I watched him die, but I didn’t deal the fatal blow.”

  Jett’s eyes sparked with curiosity. “Oh? Who else could have? Your angel?”

  Viktor hesitated. He couldn’t hide Lili’s existence forever from those he hoped to call allies. But on the off-chance Jett didn’t react well to the news of an Archangel and demon hybrid, knowledge of Lili’s capabilities would only increase his concern.

  “A blood mage,” he said, his voice strained. “The young woman you met in the woods with me a few months back. Aster Morelli.”

  Jett snorted. “Huh. She was scrappy, but she didn’t strike me as powerful enough to kill a demon as high-ranking as Andras. You must have done most of the heavy lifting.”

  Viktor nodded, eager to latch onto whatever explanation Jett might accept. “She didn’t face him alone, no. Not sure anyone could.”

  “Many died trying,” Jett said, his jaw tight. “A chambermaid spotted him leaving the burning Kinzhal tower covered in blood. She swore he had cradled a bundle of soft pink blankets against his chest.”

  Viktor sucked in a breath. “Dezra?”

  “Who can say? We never found the bodies of the children. Some believe he used them in some dark sacrifice to Zanox for power. Many of the stronger members of the Clan tried to go after Andras, but only a few returned alive.”

  The knots in Viktor’s stomach tightened and twisted as he pictured Dezra in the demon marquis’s claws, helpless to whatever sadistic plans he had waiting for her. A wave of guilt crashed over him like an ocean wave, knocking the breath from his lungs. He had failed his baby sister. He had failed the entire clan. If Jett ever discovered the truth of his cowardice, he’d resent Viktor more than he did Andras.

  “Well, the sick son of a bitch is dead. He can hurt no one now.” The words offered him little comfort. As demented and cruel as Andras was, his death did nothing to bring back Dezra or his parents. And it did nothing to stop Zanox and Daeva from destroying Astryae with their armies of monsters.

  “Small victory,” Jett mumbled. “He deserved what he got, but we still do not understand who hired him to kill them.”

  “Hired?” Viktor blinked. “What led anyone to assume Andras didn’t act alone?”

  “No motive, for one. Andras had no reason to care about Grace or Norrix, let alone wish them dead. And few people knew where Clan Kinzhal hid the family after the tower caught fire. The job was too neat in some ways and nonsensical in others. Not your typical demon chaos. Someone had to put him up to it.”

  Viktor’s hands became fists at his sides. Heat prickled his skin. Who had enough power to convince a Marquise of the Shadowrealm to do their bidding? With Andras dead, his secrets had died with him. If another mastermind had orchestrated the murder of his parents and destruction of their pack, no magic in Astryae could pry the information from the ashes left of the demon. Whatever satisfaction he’d found in avenging his parents disappeared as his heart raced.

  “Andras still murdered them,” Viktor said, unsure if he meant to convince Jett or himself. “As you said, he deserved what he got.”

  Jett shook his head. “No one can dispute that. But I wish we’d interrogated him and figure out why he did it. The rumors and suspicions were part of what drove the Clan apart after Norrix’s death. Many believed the order had come from within the pack.”

  The sun sank behind a row of bare cypress trees. Jett paused at the edge of a wide basin. Several inches of ice covered the surface of the water, the reservoir’s depth hidden below. Jett reached the tip of his boot out and tapped the ice a few times, his jaw tense.

  “It should hold. We don’t have time to waste searching for a way around.”

  “Should?” Viktor rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Not like the cold will kill us if the ice breaks open.”

  “Not right away,” Jett grinned. “With Anja’s blessed blood in our veins, it takes more than a little cold water to hurt us. Come on. Don’t be such a feline.”

  Viktor tensed. “Don’t you mean a female?”

  “No, feline. Like a pussycat.” Jett meowed at him for emphasis.

  “Piss off.” Viktor laughed as he shoved his shoulder. “You first, big guy.”

  Jett straightened his spine. “Follow me, princess. I shall make sure no harm comes to your delicate little body.”

  Viktor groaned. “It’s my soul that suffers around you. Go on, then.”

  Jett strolled forward without hesitation. Ice crunched beneath his boots with each step. Tiny fractures split the surface, but the thick layer held together.

  “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder. “I believe I’ve proven my point.”

  Viktor wasn’t sure if he trusted the ice to support their combined weight without collapsing. But the smug smirk on Jett’s face suggested any further protest he raised would fall flat. He sucked in a breath and stepped forward onto the ice, half certain the entire thing would crumble away beneath him.

  But it didn’t, and soon he found himself a few feet behind Jett. He kept his weight even and crossed in wide steps, his arms folded over his chest. The ice crunched and cracked, but it remained sturdy beneath his boots.

  He noticed the shadowy silhouette waiting on the other side of the basin as they crossed the halfway point. His body tensed as he nudged Jett with his elbow. “Demon?”

  Jett squinted. “Hard to tell from here. Whatever it is, it’s waiting for us.”

  They moved for their weapons in unison. Viktor left the sword sheathed against his back, this time reaching for two of the daggers strapped to his thigh. With their adversary still unk
nown, a longer range of attack gave them an opportunity to strike first and control the situation.

  Jett rolled his neck until the loud crack of bones answered. Fire blazed in his amber eyes as the pace of his march quickened. “Strike first, ask questions later.”

  Viktor snorted. “As if I need instruction.”

  He didn’t wait for Jett to respond. Permission to kill granted, Viktor pulled his arm back and hurled one dagger at the demon or Shadowfey on the other side with full force. He froze and waited for the tip of the blade to connect with the stranger, saying a silent prayer to Anja for the dagger to miss vital organs or veins. Dead bodies never offered much information.

  But the dagger never hit. Inches from his face, the creature lifted his hand and stopped the blade in mid-air. Seconds later it sank to the ground with a thud.

  “What the Fey—”

  “By Anja’s blade, do you see that?” Jett gasped as he gestured towards the silhouette. “What kind of mutant bastard is he?”

  The creature spread his arms. His left hand clutched a sword consumed by holy flames. Massive onyx wings spread from behind his back. Viktor’s blood chilled as he studied the feathered shape of the wings. Not a mutant Feyfolk or a demon. A familiar face gave a sinister smirk in Viktor’s direction.

  “Angel.” He spit the word like poison. “They call him Elijah. Shit.”

  “Great. Because the demons weren’t enough of a problem.”

  Viktor glanced down at the useless dagger in his hand. “Any idea how we kill it?”

  “Can’t say I’ve run into this problem before. How did you piss an angel off?”

  “I’m a man of many talents.”

  They stood frozen in the center of the ice, waiting for the angel to make his next move. Every inch of Viktor’s body tensed as he braced himself for battle. In his years with Remiel, he’d learned to defend himself against all manner of Shadowfey and demons. He had never thought to ask how to kill an angel.

  Elijah’s cold blue eyes narrowed in Jett’s direction. “This does not concern you, wolf. Leave now while you still can.”

  Jett took a step closer, his sword raised in front of his chest. “What do you want with Viktor?”

  The angel’s hand disappeared into the waistband of his fitted dark slacks. When it emerged, he clutched a pair of heavy steel cuffs held together by a thick iron chain. “A little chat. He and the Gardens have a friend in common.”

  Viktor stole a glance at Jett, who stood tall by his side with his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. His copper eyes, the eyes of their people, betrayed no sign of fear or hesitation. He stood ready to follow Viktor into battle no matter how improbable their odds of survival. When he caught Viktor’s eye, he gave him a short nod.

  Viktor’s grip tightened around the handle of his daggers until his knuckles turned white. “Kill me or screw off. I have nothing to say to any of you duplicitous bastards.”

  Elijah’s expression darkened. “This is not a request. Samael has no interest in you, fleabag. Tell us where to find the girl and no harm shall come to you or your friend.”

  “Yeah?” Jett grabbed his chin and twisted until a series of loud cracks pierced the air. “Let’s see you try.”

  Neither of them wasted time waiting for Elijah to attack. Viktor tossed his dagger to the side and snatched his sword from his back, hopeful the steel could withstand Elijah’s flaming weapon. Jett raised his sword over his head and charged. Viktor followed on his heels, his weapon aimed at the left side of Elijah’s chest.

  Seconds before they reached where he stood, a sinister smirk lit the angel’s lips. “Have it your way, fleabag. You are not the only one with information on the girl. Enjoy your swim, gentlemen.”

  Elijah brought the heel of his boot down onto the frozen basin with a shattering smash. The ice fractured, bigger chunks splitting away from the reservoir’s edge. As the ground beneath Viktor’s feet cracked and wiggled, he shot Jett a panicked glance. He had prepared himself for a fight, not an icy swim.

  “Go!” Jett shoved him forward, his nostrils flared.

  Viktor didn’t need to be told twice. He lurched forward as the ice beneath his feet gave way and split in half, the deep navy water beneath revealed. His shoes slipped against the ice as he sprang forward towards the next largest chunk of ice remaining. The basin continued to fracture and split around him, large sections splintering off into tiny pieces.

  Almost.

  Only a few feet remained between Viktor and the snowy bank. Elijah had vanished, though there was no way to tell if he’d return with reinforcements. He just had to make it a few more feet and everything would be fine. He sprang forward—

  The ice beneath his feet split open the moment he landed. He waved his arms and fought to keep his balance, but his boots slipped against the ice. He plunged feet first into the icy water without time to catch his breath or break his fall. Liquid flooded his nostrils as his muscles tensed. The water drug him down like an anchor as the cold burned his skin. He flailed his arms and legs, but they refused to respond to his commands.

  So this is how I die. He had always expected to panic in the face of his own end, to kick and fight and claw for life until his last breath. Instead, a sense of peace enveloped him as he accepted the inevitable. He’d always planned to die in the glory of battle, but the water swept him under with a cold finality he felt helpless to deny. His mother’s face flashed into his mind once more, her smile gentle as she opened her arms and beckoned him towards her.

  His head broke free of the water. The rest of him followed as Jett shoved him towards the bank of the reservoir. They gasped for air in unison. Viktor coughed and sputtered, his lungs on fire. He gripped the muddy edge of the bank and shot Jett and apologetic wince.

  “The ice—”

  “Save it. Let’s get out of here before Feathers comes back to search for our bodies.”

  * * *

  Viktor’s teeth chattered until his jaw ached. His clothes remained soaked hours after fleeing from the basin. The sun had set, the sky above pitch-dark except for a small cluster of stars. Tiny bumps prickled his flesh like armies of insects marching across his body. Jett poked a few jokes at his expense, but his eyes reflected more pity than annoyance.

  After a couple hours, Viktor and Jett found themselves in a small village Viktor had never crossed in his travels. The cozy cluster of brownstone buildings appeared half the size of Starbright or Mulgrave and a small sliver of the population of Carramar or Wyvenmere. Viktor scanned the well-trodden dirt roads for a signpost displaying the name of their location, but the darkened sky shrouded everything but the dimly lit buildings in shadows.

  “Think there’s a tavern here?” He shot Jett a skeptical glance. “Wherever ‘here’ is?”

  “Do we want to stay if they do? This place is a ghost town.”

  Viktor eyed the slight slant of the short, narrow buildings splayed about. “Not ghosts. Passives.”

  Jett groaned. “Unless you plan to stand aside and allow me to consume one, this is torturous. I’m famished.”

  Viktor flexed his fingers. He understood Jett’s hunger and frustration more than he wanted to admit aloud, let alone acknowledge to himself. After weeks of surviving on scraps and small strays, their journey had left him with a burn in his throat and pangs in his gut like a hot knife.

  But his unexpected swim had left his clothes soaked to his body. Goosebumps covered every inch of his flesh. “More monsters will come for us. I’d like a hot meal and a little rest before we fight again. And dry clothes might work to our advantage.”

  Jett rolled his eyes. “I’ve fought in worse conditions, but fine. Let us find a warm place to sleep in this shithole town.”

  Viktor slapped on a smile. “I never took you for the type to fret over a handful of passives.”

  “Fret?” he scoffed. “Hardly. But I think it would spoil the mood if I were to eat one of their townsfolk.”

  “Restrain yourself. When the sun rise
s and we’ve had a bit of rest, we’ll find the bloodiest meat we can sink our teeth into.”

  Without waiting for a response, Viktor marched forward in search of a room to rent for the night. He didn’t enjoy denying Jett’s wishes. His own mouth watered, his stomach twisting and lurching at the mere thought of biting into a still-beating heart and letting the sweet warm fluid gush into his mouth and slide down his throat.

  He rarely required blood to sustain himself. Unlike those who had joined their ranks after a bite or attack, those blessed with Anja’s blood by birth like Viktor could survive for months between feeds. But their journey had taken its toll on his energy, not to mention the sudden dip in frigid waters. If he didn’t refuel himself soon, the beast inside of him would break free and find sustenance wherever it had to.

  Wherever he and Jett had found themselves, the layout of the town made little sense to Viktor. The residents had nailed wooden signs in front of almost every building, a name carved on top with what he guessed was an occupation or business title below. He paused and ran his fingers along the deep grooves in the nearest plank, the wood smooth.

  Ferox and Poppy Ormn. Spiritual Healer.

  Jett snorted as he glanced at the sign. “Poor gullible bastards. I wonder how much they pay this snake to lie to their faces each year.”

  Viktor shrugged. “Passives like to believe the gods didn’t forget about them when they created the Fey. Some of them bargain with Zanox and Daeva for power, like the blood mages. Others play a convincing game of pretend.”

  They continued through the twisted dirt streets, their eyes flitting from building to building. The further into the small town they made it, the heavier Viktor’s steps became. Spots danced in front of his vision as he blinked, his head woozy.

  “There.” Jett gestured towards one of the crooked buildings a few feet away. Two small oil lanterns blazed on either side of the door, though darkness obscured the sign in front. Still, no other building they’d passed held any welcoming light, so Viktor stalked behind Jett across the narrow street towards the aged brownstone structure.