by Abigail Owen
“Kill you and finally fulfill my task, all at the same time?” The demon—named Belial, apparently—set his feet wider, getting ready to charge. “Must be my lucky night.”
Before the thing could attack, a man manifested in the center of the room, landing in perfect superhero pose, massive white wings outstretched, armor so gleamingly blinding, he hurt to look at.
Alasdair gaped at the spectacle. The man may as well have dropped down from heaven.
“Delilah,” Hazah snapped. “Touch the mage.”
In a blink, Delilah reached out and placed her palm over Alasdair’s heart, that spot on his skin warming instantly, almost painfully, at her touch.
Blackness consumed his vision. The last thing he heard in that room was Hazah snarling at Belial. “You won’t touch my daughter—”
Silence. Darkness. Shock.
“I’m sure you have questions,” Delilah said. Quietly. Calmly. Way too calm for what just happened.
Fuck it all, he needed to see her face, but the void was blanking her out. Alasdair grasped the first emotion that bubbled to the top of the cauldron inside him. “Hazah is your mother?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a glacier of ice in the darkness.
“A gods damned demon is your mother?” He was snarling now, but that couldn’t be helped.
Bile stung as it rose up his gullet, leaving a sour taste on his tongue. A demon had forced him to kill his own father. The same evil was taking over his people, wreaking havoc and only getting worse. He should hate what she was, but… Hell, he’d just taken her to paradise, and wanted to go back there with her. What did that make him?
A blind idiot led by his dick. That’s what.
“And your father?” he asked, words clipped. “Also a demon?”
Did demons have wings? Was that why the result for her cat had been death? Because she was a spawn of the hells?
“No. That would be the angel who landed beside my mother,” she answered, the words stiff as though she couldn’t quite make her lips work.
He had to stop himself from physically pitching forward to try to get more air into his lungs as those words sent reverberations through his entire system. Alasdair covered his eyes with his hands, pressing hard with his palms, waiting for the aftershocks to stop thundering through him.
Half demon was bad enough, but half angel, too? That was way worse.
…
No. No. No. No…
The word was blending together in her head, turning into useless, nonsensical sounds, feeling as though Zeus himself were hurling thunderbolts after her, one after another.
Watching the horror in Alasdair’s eyes before they’d plunged into darkness tore at her like a son of a bitch. More than just about any other experience she could bring to mind. Which meant she was way further down the road with him than she’d intended to go.
She needed to focus.
A demon—Belial, her mother had called it—had somehow hijacked them. Pulled them half in and half out of her mother’s spell, or maybe stepped inside it himself, so that they remained vulnerable to attack.
Razors of fear slid around her heart, slicing deep, threatening to bleed her out like an animal to slaughter. That had not been a lower-level demon—that had been a sentinel—not once an angel, like her mother, but the most powerful of the demons who’d originated as human souls. And Alasdair’s forehead had glowed with its mark in her office, which meant that thing was the same one who’d been after him since he was a boy.
Which meant Alasdair had to be integral to whatever the demons were planning. If that was true, then he needed to be anywhere but here.
They landed without warning, and the soft light had her blinking after the darkness. Delilah frowned as she looked around. Why were they back here?
They stood once more in the circular meeting room for the Syndicate. Only this time night had fallen, the snowcapped mountains hardly visible outside the blackened windows and glare of the lights on the glass.
Alasdair’s chair was the only one in the room that remained empty.
Those in the room were dressed up in various levels of festive clothing. For their own Christmas Eve celebrations? Was this the present? The group didn’t seem to be doing much, or perhaps they were waiting. They almost acted unconcerned, if anything. Chatting to one another softly, casually.
“What is this?” Alasdair asked.
Delilah reached for her powers, but nothing came. They were still in the visions. “I think we’re waiting for whatever happens next.”
But in the past or present?
“In that case…” A gasp escaped her as Alasdair grabbed her by the arm, though his grip remained surprisingly gentle, given the urgency in every line of his shoulders, and swung her around to face him. “I’m sure we don’t have long, but I need answers. Explain. Now.”
She stared into hard eyes of the same man who, only minutes ago by way of normal time, had just had his mouth on her body, gifting her with pleasure beyond pleasure. He glowered at her, expression mostly closed, only she’d swear confusion lingered in his gaze.
Don’t give up on me yet, she silently begged him.
She cleared her throat. “My parents’ affair was forbidden. Angels and demons are sworn enemies, opposite sides of the biggest political issue in existence.”
The man before her said nothing, just waited.
“Demons were once angels. According to human belief, Lucifer apparently became so impressed with his own beauty, intelligence, power, and position that he began to desire for himself the honor and glory that belonged to God alone. The sin that corrupted Lucifer was self-generated pride.”
“I’ve heard the story. Are you saying human history got it wrong?”
She shrugged. “According to my mother, Lucifer disagreed with God about humanity. In humans, he saw such capacity for evil—for selfishness, entitlement, pride, and violence—that he didn’t understand how God could want to forgive them over and over. Bless them. Meanwhile, angels, also his creation, were nothing but tools to serve God’s pets. Not creatures deserving of blessings or forgiveness in their own right.”
“What does this have to do with you or what you are?” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Please tell me Lucifer isn’t your father.”
“No. And as for why I’m telling you…you’ll see why this is important.”
He paused, searching her gaze, then waved her to continue, though she could tell he was at the end of his tether.
“Lucifer chose to fall to escape. He wanted nothing to do with humanity anymore. Other angels followed him for various reasons of their own. Demons—true demons, who were once angels—aren’t evil, necessarily. They’re just…apart.”
Alasdair crossed his arms. “You can’t tell me that thing that took over my father wasn’t evil. Or the one that just attacked us.”
“Am I evil?” She tossed the words between them. And held her breath, because his answer, right this second, was…important.
Beyond a slight flexing in his arms, he chose not to respond, and disappointment tunneled a pit in her gut.
She took a breath and kept going. “To punish Lucifer, God sends all the damned human souls to join him in hell, most for punishment, but some becoming lower-level demons themselves. Not as powerful. Lucifer and the other angels who fell with him decided to turn those souls against humanity. That’s what we’ve encountered so far.”
“That thing we just left behind was a lower-level demon?”
She shook her head. “Belial is a sentinel. The most powerful of the lower-level demons. They must want you badly.”
His jaw tightened at that. “And your mother? What’s her story?”
“She was once an angel. Semhazah was the leader of the Watchers, a group of angels who spent much time on earth among humans, sometimes observing, sometimes interacting. S
he made the mistake of agreeing with Lucifer about human nature and fell with him, leaving my father—her greatest love—behind. She doesn’t agree with Lucifer’s plan, his use of evil souls, and so she…left. Left Lucifer. Left the hells. She lives apart. Still away from my father, but whenever he was assigned to earth, he would visit her.”
She knew her smile reflected the sadness inside her because Alasdair shifted as though uncomfortable.
“Eventually, I was conceived.”
“Fuck me,” Alasdair muttered.
But did he believe her?
“As punishment after my birth, my mother was returned to the deepest of the hells. It took her many millennia to claw her way out again, and yet, he waited. All that time. So did I. Having me was the worst thing that could have happened to them. I’m…” She tilted her head, trying to hide her feelings now. “An abomination.”
Anger sparked in his eyes, and Alasdair opened his mouth. “Don’t you ever—”
But a man entered the room through the wide double doors that had been closed, and Alasdair cut himself off to watch closely.
“Micah, where is my brother?” a younger woman seated at the table demanded. One Delilah recognized from the first time she’d met this group of people in this very room. Hestia. Alasdair’s sister. “We cannot wait any longer. Have Rowan come in, please.”
Micah stood where Delilah and Rowan had stood the day Delilah had met Alasdair. Tall and with the posture of a fighter, the man’s expression darkened ominously. “I don’t know.”
“Fuck,” Alasdair grumbled beside her as Micah left the room. “This is now. The present. I ordered Micah to convene the Syndicate. But that was hours ago. Why have they waited this long to act?”
“Rowan, maybe?” Delilah murmured beside him. “You told whoever you called to bring her in.”
The witch had been raised by a demon. If anyone knew anything about how to deal with this problem, she might.
The doors opened again and two people entered. Greyson Masters, Alasdair’s head witch-hunter, and Rowan Masters, his new bonded wife.
Rowan stopped so abruptly inside the room that her red hair tumbled into her face. “Grey,” she said, an urgency to her voice.
He whipped his head to stare at her, searching her face.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she said. Her voice trembled. Then she glanced at Micah and gasped. “Grey…get us out of here.”
In an instant, her husband took Rowan’s hand and the two teleported away. Papers flew and the doors slammed shut in the wake of the whirlwind the spell caused.
“Oh gods,” Delilah gasped.
Rowan would recognize possession when she saw it. If she ran rather than stayed to fight, it had to be next-level catastrophic.
“No.” The word ripped from Alasdair, and she flinched at the sound. She’d done this to him. Sending him to her mother. He could have been here to stop it.
Almost as though they’d heard the word “demon,” every person in the room slowly turned their heads, eyes filling until the orbs were glassy soulless black. Those gazes pinned Delilah where she stood. Evil intent pierced her with their looks.
Whispers filled her head and Delilah clamped her hands over her ears against them. “It’s her,” they said. “The child. The abomination. Kill her.”
“Delilah?” She was vaguely aware of Alasdair calling her name, of his gaze swiveling between her and the demons who’d possessed every single one of the Syndicate members. Except him.
As one, the demons rose to their feet. Coming for her.
“Mother!” Delilah cried out and threw her arms around Alasdair’s waist.
Darkness.
“Goddess help us…” Alasdair whispered into the void, his body ramrod straight against her. “The Syndicate has fallen.”
Chapter Seven
Delilah landed back in her office a blink later. Immediately, Alasdair stepped away from her. Jerked away, actually, and, precariously balanced on her stiletto heels as she’d been, Delilah fell right onto her ass. He grimaced and held out a hand, helping her to her feet, though even that small touch communicated his emotional state, the tension vibrating through her like a tuning fork.
He dropped her hand and started toward the door. “We have to go.”
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t think this is over.”
“Dammit,” he snapped, not at her but the situation.
Honestly, she was on the same page.
Delilah glanced around. The room looked like a tornado had torn through it. Windows busted out. Glass everywhere. Furniture and papers everywhere. Bookshelves toppled. Her laptop, or at least the top half of it, somehow lodged in the drywall.
“Mom?” she called out.
Nothing.
“Mom? Dad?” Delilah called again, trying to breathe through a well of panic. They’d been together. Together.
“Delilah.”
She and Alasdair both spun around to find Naiobe standing in the doorway, a paleness underlying her mahogany skin that gave her an ashen hue.
Delilah rushed to her friend, checking her over as she did. “Are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed.” Naiobe laid a hand over Delilah’s, stopping her inspection.
“Don’t lie to me,” Delilah said softly. “It makes your nose twitch.”
Naiobe sighed. “Just a small scratch, easily healed.” She held up an arm with a welt that looked close to a week old.
Thank the heavens for small mercies.
“The demon?”
“Gone. Your parents sent it back to hell.”
“Holy shit.” The words burst from her before she could stop them. It must have been worse than even she’d imagined.
“Your father is safe. Your mother is unharmed as well.” Naiobe grimaced. “Or at least, she will be able to heal from the wounds she sustained.”
It had been that bad? The fact that thing had managed to wound her powerful mother said a lot.
“In here,” Naiobe said.
Her friend pressed her palm against a hidden spot on the wall. A scanner beeped and turned green, then a click and a large section of dragonsteel disguised to appear like wood paneling swung open, revealing a hidden panic room—supernaturally warded, of course.
Inside, her mother lay on the floor, her back propped against the steel wall. Delilah’s father, no longer in armor, instead in jeans and a white cable-knit sweater of all things, knelt at her side, his blond hair a disheveled mess, which spoke volumes.
They were still together? Goddess above.
Delilah hurried over and dropped to her knees on her mother’s other side. Her father reached out to squeeze her arm, and Hazah cupped her face with her hand. “I’m all right.”
But Delilah could only shake her head. “You’re both here,” she whispered. If she hadn’t sent Alasdair to her mother…
“Why is that bad?” Alasdair asked from where he stood in the open doorway.
The question sent her muscles into spasming tension all the way up her back. Holding herself stiffly, composing her features, she angled her face toward him.
Were this any other man, she wouldn’t bother to explain. But this was Alasdair, and she’d surrendered too much to him to hold back now. Besides, deep down she wanted him to know the truth. Though no doubt it would do little to alter his opinions. The way he stepped back as soon as they’d arrived… The man could hardly stand to be near her.
“They are forbidden to see each other.”
“Because of you.” A statement rather than a question.
“Watch it,” her father, usually so reticent, growled.
Except Delilah blinked, her gaze on Alasdair’s face. She knew this man in full sarcastic dick mode. That hadn’t been accusation. More like…acceptance. Didn’t he hate her? Hate what she was?
He t
ipped his head, ignoring her angel father and demon mother to look directly back at her. What was he saying with that silent, steady stare?
Delilah glanced away, at Naiobe, to cover the confusion racing through her heart. “Get yourself somewhere safe.”
Her assistant, and one of the three people who knew everything about her, part of the deal for Delilah releasing her from her bottle, hesitated. “But—”
“Promise me,” Delilah insisted.
The Syndicate had fallen, Alasdair was marked, her parents were together and injured.
And Delilah could do nothing.
Nothing but push Alasdair away before she made things worse.
…
Alasdair felt as though he were being ripped into a thousand pieces as loyalties and needs pulled him in too many different directions.
Still reeling from every damn revelation over the last what had felt like fifteen minutes at most, his heart slammed against his ribs like a wild animal trying to break free of a cage. The panic room seemed to close in on him, too quiet for his mind, which was still processing everything.
Dammit.
Alasdair stared at Delilah, a dull ache taking up residence in his chest, gripping his insides with fists made of stone. Not because he hated her, but because she thought he would. He could see it in the confusion swirling in her dark eyes.
But this day had changed everything. He could never hate her.
Because she’d turned out to be that woman in the alley. Because she’d been trying to help him, even if things had only gotten worse. Because she’d wanted to give the child version of him a hug. Because she’d tasted like heaven coming all over him.
She was part demon…and he didn’t care.
He should. She’d lied by omission. That relevant fact could’ve been shared at any time in their dealings today. Hell, the second he’d told her he had a demon problem, even more so after she’d witnessed the scene of his father’s death.
That vision.
Mother goddess, was that what he now had to face? How was he supposed to stop the demons if they possessed the most powerful witches and warlocks in existence? His sister among them. Was he destined to lose his entire family? The damage the Syndicate could do, must already be doing…
