by C. S. Wilde
He unsheathed his sword from his belt and in a blur of movement, slashed the man’s jugular.
A quick death.
Blood sprayed onto Liam as the guard fell limp on the floor, sticky red pooling beneath his light-blue shirt. It stained a picture that had fallen from his pocket: a smiling woman and a kid.
Hauk had laughed and clapped. “You cost me a soul, but I can certainly appreciate bloodlust, brother.” He tapped Liam’s shoulder. “Just try to contain it next time. I might be your leader, but I too deserve some fun every now and then.”
“Yes, boss.”
He then ogled Archie from behind his shoulder, annoyance clear in his bleak eyes. “You trained him well, Archibald. I wonder if the student has become the master.”
The old man balled his fists. “I’m certainly proud of him, boss.”
Later that night, Liam showered. The water purged him from the guard’s blood, at least on the surface. He told himself over and over that at least the man’s soul was saved, but it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
His suffering paid off, though. Hauk had begun to trust him blindly. One day over drinks, he told Liam he kept a hundred pounds of untampered wolfsugar stored in a warehouse not far from sector thirteen.
“Why keep pure wolfsugar?” Liam asked. “Best to get rid of it.”
“It’s bait for desperate werewolves.” Hauk tapped his temple knowingly. “They might not be the focus of Master’s plan anymore, but having fewer of them on the streets can’t hurt.”
His plan became clear to Liam. “Full moon’s coming.”
“And the dogs are growing reckless. Rogue wolfmen already died by the hands of my guards, but without wolfsugar, they won’t survive the Order’s wrath.” He shrugged easily, as if he wasn’t speaking about genocide.
Those wolfmen had come to assess the perimeter. Bad thing is, they never reported back. By running from this war, Suther might have protected most of his packs—Jal said the number of werewolves tripled those of remaining vamps. But he wouldn’t be able to keep them safe for much longer.
The wolf lord’s strategy, if one could call it that, would bite him in his tail very soon. Come full moon, the wolves would perish.
Who would be next?
Liam ached to slam his dagger into Hauk’s neck, sever his head, and end all of it.
One time, he caught himself stalking toward the Gorge’s leader, who chatted with Juniper, the demon’s fuck buddy.
Liam’s heart beat in his ears, and sweat bloomed on his forehead. He would end that bastard. He was so close … But Master had begun all this. Hauk was just a pawn.
Liam remembered the young girl who’d been raped, and the woman who had tried to save her only to be impaled alive.
One day, he promised them. One day, he would bring them justice.
So Liam went on, never questioning Hauk’s orders and always delivering on his assignments.
Naturally, keeping this charade took a toll on him, but it took so much more from Archie.
The old man had lost a lot of weight since the pub; his cheeks were sunken in, the bags under his eyes puffy and dark. Liam often caught him staring into empty space; half of him here, the other somewhere else.
He and his father had crossed lines that would destroy them both; there was no question about that. But Archie perished a lot faster.
When Liam took him outside the warehouse and voiced his concern, the old man trapped him in a tight hug. “You’ve become so strong, son.” He stepped back and watched Liam with glistening eyes. “I’m so proud.”
A knot clogged Liam’s throat. “I can’t do this without you, Archie. Hauk is watching. You have to snap out of it.”
“I know.” Archie ran a hand over his sand-blond hair and blew out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll fix it, okay?”
Could he, though? Hauk had removed the old man from the gang rotation—Master encouraged a good relationship between demonic factions which meant he was smart, whoever he was. Demonic gangs never got along, but Master wanted a unified army and he was getting one.
If Hauk had taken Archie from the rotation, it meant he didn’t trust the old man. United or not, the last thing Hauk needed was to show weakness to other factions.
Even if Liam hated to admit it, Archie was way too fragile right now, both physically and mentally. If he’d been in Hauk’s place, he would’ve done the same.
“Hey, Liam!” Pedro called out from the second floor of the warehouse, leaning over a glassless window. “Boss wants to see you.”
He glanced at Archie with worry, but the old man nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
Hauk wasn’t known for his patience, so Liam hurried inside and up the cement stairs, then knocked on the steel door.
“Come in,” the demon ordered.
Hauk sat at a decaying wooden table as he signed some papers. Contracts? Liam tried to read what they said, but he couldn’t distinguish the words.
“Curiosity killed the ca-at,” Hauk said with a chipper tune, his attention still on the papers.
“Sorry.” Liam cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
Hauk set down his pen. “Once we reach eight hundred souls, Master will meet with me. I want to take you and Pedro along.”
Liam’s breathing stopped. According to the Gorge’s ledger, they’d gotten over five hundred souls. Eight hundred was approaching fast.
He could only imagine what the other demonic factions scattered around town had made. Sure, the Gorge was the biggest of them, but Black Dagger ached to please Master. The day he worked there, Liam reckoned they’d gathered at least forty souls in one night.
And now, it had all paid off. Soon, he would meet Master and make him pay. Hauk, too.
“It will be my honor.” He bowed slightly, then thought twice about it and figured he should try anyway. “Can we bring Archie along? He would be stoked to—”
“No. Your partner is weak.”
“He brought me to you, didn’t he?” Liam said. “Archie always has my back. Which means he has the Gorge’s back, too.”
The demon observed him through narrowed eyes. “Then he goes soul reaping tonight with Phil and Lacey. If he doesn’t get me over twenty souls, I’ll make you kill him.” Liam opened his mouth to argue, but Hauk raised his hand. “You think I don’t know you and Pedro are the ones making the deals? That he’s just watching?”
Freaking Pedro and his big mouth.
“Tonight Archibald proves himself.” Hauk bared his teeth at him. “He proves himself, or he dies.”
There was no use in trying to dissuade this asshole.
“He won’t let you down,” Liam countered without hesitation.
“We’ll see.” His mobile rang, and he picked it up. “She’s ready? Good. I’m on my way.”
The demon shoved the device in his jeans’ pocket, then raised his index finger. “One chance. That’s all he gets.”
Later that afternoon, he and Archie met with Jophiel in a back alley in sector three, far from the Gorge’s dominance zone.
The Seraph looked fine, if not older than Liam remembered. He wore a dark blue T-shirt with yellow lightning between the letters AC and DC. Say what you will, but Jophiel had great taste in music.
The Seraph gave him a weak smile, then handed him a sword covered in gray rags.
Liam untied the cloth, and his eyes widened when it revealed Michael’s sword. His sword. “You found it.”
“Ezraphael did,” Jophiel corrected. “According to Ava, he hoped it would help you remember who you used to be. And who you are.”
He frowned. “The Messenger thought of me?”
“He’s good at worrying about others.” Jophiel shrugged in a manner that was both wise and carefree. “If circumstances had been different, you might’ve been good friends.”
Liam raised one eyebrow and snorted.
Still, he was happy to have his weapon back. He unsheathed the other sword from his belt and thr
ew it aside. The sheath was the same he’d used back at the Nine-five, so Michael’s sword fit perfectly.
He patted the weapon with care. Even if the blade was darker than he remembered, Liam took it without complaint.
“Jal threw a damned coating on it,” Jophiel explained. “Should be enough to fool your fellow demons.”
Smart.
“Jophiel,” Archie said. “We need to do something about the deals the Gorge is closing. They’re damning so many souls … either they will send them all to the Hells, or they’ll turn them into demons at some point.”
“I know, but—”
Archie grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him into a brick wall. The surface cracked, and a thin cloud of dust puffed around Jophiel. The Seraph glared at him with a mix of surprise and hurt.
“We’ve given up everything!” Archie bit his teeth and pointed at Liam. “What he had to do! What he witnessed!” His voice failed, and he sniffed back tears. “I brought my son into something far worse than I could imagine. Do you understand that?”
Liam set a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Archie, I’m fine.”
He wasn’t, of course. The carnage, the cursed souls, the innocents he’d killed, they all haunted him every night. But he had to see this mission through.
So did Archie.
“He’s my boy.” Tears tracked down the old man’s cheeks as he finally let go of the Seraph. He quickly wiped them with the back of his hand. “We gave up everything for your Legion. You failed us, Jophiel.”
He’d gone too far. The way Archie glared at his own boots was evidence he knew this too.
Jophiel blinked as pain flashed behind his eyes. “If demons can’t do what humans require in exchange for their souls, the deals are automatically voided and the soul is saved. The Gray are trying to get in their way. And they are dying.” Archie opened his mouth, either to apologize or to argue, but Jophiel continued. “Lilith’s vampires are fighting as many Archangels, Selfless, and demons as they can. They are dying, too. And come full moon, Suther’s werewolves will also perish. So you see, my friend,” he let out a weary scoff, “you’re not the only one I’m failing right now.”
The responsibility the Seraph carried on his shoulders was monumental.
Archie sniffed and crossed his arms. “I’m sorry. It’s been harder than I’d expected.”
“I know.” He stepped closer to the old man so they were eye to eye. “You’ve been strong, but even the strongest of men is allowed to collapse every now and then.” He glanced at the brick walls that surrounded them and let out a deep sigh. “It might seem like we’re losing the battle on all fronts, but it’s not over yet. I still have a few cards up my sleeve. I’m simply trying to find a better way.”
Archie stared at the Seraph and gulped. “I don’t want you to use those cards. And I’m truly sorry, Jo. I know you’re doing your best.”
What were they talking about? What cards?
“I do have a plan,” the Seraph said.
“You do?”
Jophiel nodded. “Jal’s informants said demons are keeping a secret storage of untampered wolfsugar. Does that match the information you have?”
Archie frowned in confusion, but Liam said, “I know where it is. Hauk told me.”
“Good.” The Seraph turned to the old man. “You must shapeshift into a werewolf tonight, Archibald. This way, you’ll be able to maintain your cover in the Gorge. You will then steal the wolfsugar and bring it to Jal at eight. This is our last chance to get werewolves back in the Legion. Only with their help can we move forward in this war.”
Exhilaration and resolve shone in Archie’s eyes. For the first time in a while, he resembled Liam’s fierce hero again; the leader of the Fury Boys. A fucking force of nature.
There was only one tiny problem.
“Archie can’t do it,” Liam said quietly. “He needs to prove himself to Hauk tonight or that asshole will make me kill him.”
“I can come up with an excuse,” the old man argued, unfazed by the revelation.
“No, you can’t.” He stared at his father in a way that said this was not a discussion. “Trust me.”
Jophiel’s bushy eyebrows knitted. “But it’s imperative that we—”
Liam stepped forward and raised his hand. Bones cracked as nails and hair grew until his upper arm had morphed into a werewolf’s claw with silky black fur.
Jophiel placed both palms on his waist and shook his head. “You might’ve been training shapeshifting with Archibald, but you’re not a Beast in essence. You’re a Terror, Liam. Your specialty is fire and speed. Using a power that isn’t yours will take a toll on you.”
“I know, but we don’t have another choice.” He tried to hide his annoyance but failed miserably. What part of his father’s life being on the line didn’t Jophiel get?
“You’ve never shapeshifted your entire body,” Archie said. “You’ll need to keep the cover and fight the guards. I can’t let you do this, kid.”
“Hey, I’m not a child anymore.” With his human hand, he grabbed the back of Archie’s neck and pressed his forehead against his father’s. “Just focus on getting those twenty souls, all right?”
“I don’t like this.”
“Me, neither. But it is what it is.”
“Oh, son. You better know what you’re doing …” His tone was coated by tears.
“Old man,” Liam chortled. “I never do.”
23
Ava
The night was dark and rainy, as nights like this should be.
Drops pattered on Ava’s hair, her bodysuit, all of her, but she didn’t care. Freezing claws of sorrow ripped through her as she watched the scene.
Kevin talked to the human police a few steps ahead. He showed them a fake badge of authority—she guessed Homeland Security, CIA, or the FBI. Humans were fond of acronyms.
His team of Selfless had begun taking over the crime scene, but the detective in charge refused to let them continue.
“The wings were attached to her bones,” the detective argued, pointing to the body at Ava’s feet. “Don’t tell me it’s a simple Halloween costume.”
The detective couldn’t see Ava, and even if he could, all he’d find would be a woman wearing a white bodysuit—her wings were safely tucked into her light.
He had seen Vera’s body, though. So had the eight cops surrounding the area.
Beheading might be the easiest way to kill an immortal creature but there were others, such as burning one to ashes or slamming a cursed dagger through their forehead.
Vera’s killer had picked the latter.
They would pay for this.
Three officers made the sign of the cross as they watched the body, but most simply shook their heads and claimed it was all a hoax. Kevin had to keep them close until the Virtues, who would erase their memories, arrived.
“They’re implants,” he argued, turning to where Ava stood. He gave her a grim nod. “The victim had the wings surgically attached.”
“That’s impossible.” The detective shook his head. “That technology doesn’t exist.”
“It does, and its knowledge needs to stay here, inspector.” Kevin removed his badge and showcased it again in a silent warning.
Ava felt the detective’s anger flowing in waves, but eventually, he nodded his understanding.
She kneeled on the ground and looked at the blade shoved in Vera’s forehead, the clotting blood around the wound, and her unblinking stare at the stormy sky.
Her brown hair, usually fixed in a high bun, now splayed on the floor underneath her head.
Ava’s back heaved with a sob. She and Ezra had searched for Vera relentlessly, keeping close tabs on Sithrael day in and out.
In the end, it wasn’t enough.
But how had he gotten to her? He hadn’t left the Order in days …
Air swooshed from above, and in one harsh landing that splashed water everywhere, Ezra appeared before Ava.
The
moon fallen from the sky.
His majestic wings disappeared as he knelt opposite to her. He brushed Vera’s cheek with the back of his hand and winced with a cry.
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered as he took Vera’s limp hand. His shoulders shook, and he gulped back tears. “I failed you, esteemed mentor.”
“Ezra, I’m—”
He took a device from his belt and showed it to Ava. It was a tiny black pebble that could pass for a black-pearl earring.
The tracker.
“I found it hidden inside a vase back at the Order.” His eyes were red, and his body trembled with agony; its sour tang coursed through Ava’s essence.
They had followed Sithrael everywhere, but for days all he’d done was walk around the Order. First to meeting rooms, then his chambers.
Well, his tracker had.
“He fooled us,” she growled through gritted teeth.
It took her a couple of deep breaths to control the blazing anger that flushed through her veins. She could almost hear Vera saying, “Control that mighty fury of yours, dear.”
For you, old owl. Only for you.
Sithrael knew they were tracking him, and he’d played them to his advantage.
“Revenge is not the way of the Gods,” Ezra whispered to himself. “I’m not like Talahel, Vera, but it’s so hard … I need you.” His tears mingled with the rain. “Give me strength, my mentor,” he muttered as he stood up. He watched the old owl one last time. “And forgive me.”
He tossed the tracking device in a puddle, and his wings flashed behind him. Before Ava could say a word, he boosted into the night sky, leaving her alone with Vera.
That witty spark was gone from the old owl’s bleak, staring eyes, her soul vanished into oblivion. A thousand blades couldn’t hurt more than this.
Vera’s voice rang in her mind again. “The Gods aren’t known for being fair.”
Ava observed the sky and closed her eyes. Rain washed over her, sealing the fury into every cell of her body, every crevice of her existence, until it became a part of who she was.
In her mind, the rain became Sithrael’s warm, sticky blood.
