by C. S. Wilde
“Why are you siding with demons?” he asked. “Why did you engage with Hells’ Gorge?”
He couldn’t answer, of course. His jaw was clinched shut.
Ezra gave Ava with a silent plea, and she rolled her eyes. Her black and golden lightning stopped the attack and rushed back to her, calmly slipping under her skin.
After a few recomposing breaths, Sithrael croaked, “I won’t betray … my commander.”
“Answer, or I’ll let her loose on you again.” Ezra nodded to Ava.
She gave Sithrael an eager grin.
He shivered but still bit his teeth in defiance. Spit covered the sides of his mouth. “You can’t stop us. The Order is ours.”
Ezra shot anger into Sithrael, then a deep sorrow at things lost; a loneliness that nibbled at Ava’s edges, tugging her down into a never-ending fall.
She remembered pushing anguish and misery into Gabriel once. How he had cried and suffered before she’d granted him the mercy of death. For some reason, her throat tightened and a bitter taste invaded her mouth. She preferred hurting her enemies with lightning and blades instead of a flurry of crushing emotions.
It seemed more honorable, somehow.
The Archangel fell on his knees but still managed to speak through Ezra’s emotional torture. “I’ve seen true pain and desperation, my Messenger.” He shook as tears flowed down his cheeks. “This is nothing.”
Ezra gave Ava a silent “go ahead,” so she shot a storm of black and golden lightning into Sithrael, who convulsed furiously with screams trapped in his throat.
When she stopped, he hunched over on his knees, his breaths so shallow Ava could barely hear them.
“We won’t ask again,” Ezra said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
“I’m … not asking you to,” the Archangel croaked. “Do your best.”
Ezra shook his head. “This is pointless. Let’s take him back to the Order. I’m sure we can obtain a permission for a mental scan and have a Virtue look into his mind.”
“It won’t be admissible in court,” Ava countered.
Faking thoughts wasn’t hard, even for a human. Any Virtue could be fooled if the subject concentrated hard enough.
“We can try.” Ezra pointed at Sithrael. “We could ask for Agathe herself to peer into his mind. That has to be admissible in court, right?”
“Ezra, we tortured him.”
With this single argument, Talahel could destroy their case.
“A world of angels with no demons, no humans, and no In-Betweens is our utopia,” Sithrael muttered. “Soon the entire Order will see our way, and I will walk free.”
He did have a point. The truth tended to be buried under the Order’s blindness and bureaucracy.
“Your utopia strips people of a choice.” Ezra’s lips curled with disgust. “It annihilates the one in the name of others, when all are equal before the Gods. The Order will never accept it.”
Sithrael shot them a wide smile that oozed evil. “Won’t it?”
She couldn’t tell; she honestly couldn’t. Inequalities grew within holy walls with each passing day. Sithrael’s utopia might cross a very thick line, but the Order wasn’t incapable of getting there.
The Archangel held her gaze as he went on. “I saw your former lover; the demon. He’s consumed by darkness, sister. I’ll disembowel him in front of you. Yes, that will be the first thing I’ll do when I’m set free.”
The Order had failed Liam, but Ava wouldn’t.
Not again.
She blurred into action before realizing what she was doing. Ava ran to her sword and grabbed it as Ezra screamed for her to stop. Her body felt lighter than air. He tried to grab her shoulder, but his fingers only brushed her back. She dashed through the empty path to Sithrael, raised her blade, and cut across his neck.
His head hit concrete and rolled away slowly, leaving a trail of blood.
Sithrael was smiling. As if he’d won this battle even if it cost him his life.
Ezra glared at her, his mouth half-open. “What have you done?”
Ava’s rushed breaths rang in her ears. “He would’ve walked,” she said mindlessly, halfway caught between a nightmare and reality.
“He wouldn’t! He played your anger and fear!”
Her lips flatlined. Ezra might be right, but she couldn’t run the risk. “I had to kill him. He was going to hurt Liam.”
“Gods!” He turned around and ran a hand through his silver hair. “He was our one chance, Ava!”
No. The entire Order had succumbed to Talahel’s mad ideas. Agathe would’ve let Sithrael walk. If the Throne had an ounce of common sense, she wouldn’t have overridden Ezra’s signature and granted Talahel more weapons.
Ava had to believe this because if she was wrong, killing Sithrael meant she had destroyed the one way out of this war.
“If it wasn’t for me, would you have joined Talahel?” she blurted.
The question caught Ezra by surprise. He watched her as if she had slammed a blade in his heart. He grabbed her hand and pressed her palm on his chest, his deep blue gaze locked on hers. “Never.”
“But you almost succumbed to Talahel’s wickedness,” she insisted, her tone sticks and stones.
“Like every angel in the Order,” he said, “being fooled into thinking he has everything under control does not mean joining his insanity. Trust me, Ava. Sithrael wouldn’t have walked free.”
No. Ezra would betray her like Talahel had betrayed the Order. A voice inside her whispered, we should trust no one.
Ezra isn’t no one.
Ava shook her head. The Messenger was the kindest angel she’d ever met, but the fury inside her was insane and it whispered strange words in her ears, mad words she tried to ignore.
Agathe would have never freed Sithrael. Ava understood this now that she could think straight; now that the red had vanished from her head. The Throne might be a stickler to the rules, but she wasn’t completely senseless.
Ezra brushed a lock of hair off her face. “They killed Vera. How can you question …” he trailed off and blinked back tears, his jaw a tight square.
Guilt filled her completely as her emotions steadied. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you still there?” he asked, his tone broken as he peered into her eyes. “Are you still yourself, Ava?”
“I …” Her voice failed. The Guardian she used to be turned into a lost memory with each passing day. Someone she used to know a long time ago. Ava was becoming someone else, someone she wasn’t proud of. A new version of herself who perhaps had always been there, dooming and freeing her at the same time. She pressed her forehead against Ezra’s chest. “I don’t know.”
25
Liam
Liam walked inside an abandoned house, a crumbling space with one room located four blocks away from the Gorge’s main headquarters. The paint on the walls was chipped and mold blotches peppered the ceiling.
He watched his reflection in a cracked mirror near the left corner and grinned. A wolf with sharp teeth smiled back at him. His eyes shone yellow, standing out from the night-black fur that covered his entire body.
Liam licked his teeth with a long wolfish tongue and lingered on his canines. Hells, he’d done a fine job with his fangs.
He looked out the glassless window and into the night ahead, hoping that Archie was reaping the souls he needed to prove himself. But he couldn’t worry about the old man now.
Liam’s head hurt as if he were hungover.
The clock was ticking.
He moved swiftly under the mantle of night, often hiding behind abandoned cars and piles of rusting appliances and whatnots. It didn’t take him long to find the warehouse where they kept the wolfsugar.
Fuck.
Two buildings towered over the place. Taking out Jim and Butch, the third-tiers atop each roof, wouldn’t be a problem. But Abrielle guarded the entrance of the warehouse.
A Drakar, like Jal.
Liam studied his own
claws, and the pressure under his skull increased. He bit back the pain as his nails grew bigger and sharper.
He hadn’t taken his holy guns or sword with him because this had to pass for a werewolf attack. Without weapons, it would be damn hard to win against a second-tier demon. But he would never get the job done by staying here, and now his bones had begun to prickle under his skin.
He had to hurry.
Liam moved swiftly into the first building, climbing up the stairs to the roof.
Taking out the first demon by clawing off his throat was too easy. Jim had barely seen Liam coming.
As the demon’s head toppled over what remained of his neck, Liam glared at his own sharp and bloodied claws.
It’s not innocent blood, he told himself. These monsters had tortured and raped, so tonight, the grim reaper would come for them with a fury.
A certain relief washed over him as he went on.
Two more to go.
Jumping from the top of this building to the next was a walk in the park. His hind legs boosted him and as he cut through the air, Liam figured being a werewolf wasn’t all that bad—even if his brain burned underneath his skull.
He landed with a mighty thud and dodged the blade that slashed the air toward him. One swipe of his claw, and he ripped the demon’s face to shreds. Butch’s left eye hung from its socket, his mangled jaw evident underneath shredded skin.
The demon gurgled something before falling dead. Had he been a second-tier, he might’ve been able to heal. Emphasis on might.
“Oh, you’re good, wolf.”
He turned to Abrielle, who spread her purple wings wide as she unsheathed her sword. That giant psycho—she was at least three heads taller than Liam—smiled pure madness.
He hated fighting a woman, but Abrielle had tortured and murdered plenty of humans back at the pub.
Assholes weren’t defined by gender, he supposed.
Liam walked casually to the fallen demon’s body and snatched up his sword.
Abrielle let out a shrill, high-pitched laugh. “Wolfmen can’t fight with swords. Did they forget to tell you that, puppy?”
The claws were an issue, yes, but fighting with a blade came easily to Liam. Then again, he was a wolf now, and his claws were practically daggers.
His brain pulsed inside his skull, and his vision doubled. His darkness pushed under his skin, so did his light—a faint memory of the angel he used to be. The forces inside him wouldn’t be able to hold his wolfish form much longer.
Liam shook his head and took a composing breath. Full moon was coming, and only the wolfsugar in that warehouse could stop thousands of beasts from rushing through the streets, murdering innocents, and getting slaughtered by the Order in return.
He had to get it to Suther. Fuck if Abrielle would stop him.
He watched his own bloodied claws. He was a monster now, and as much as he hated admitting it, the sword would only hinder him. So he dropped it to the ground and howled to the sky.
Abrielle fixed her battle stance and raised her sword.
He charged.
It was quiet here in the woods, but thanks to his demonic hearing, Liam still discerned faint city noises in the distance.
He found Jal waiting for him in a clearing near a rocky wall. “Holy shit, you actually did it,” he said, his eyes wide as Liam approached with the black duffel bag containing untampered wolfsugar. “Took you long enough, little Terror. Or should I say little Beast?”
Jal’s playfulness disappeared when Liam came closer and the demon spotted the blood sticking to his fur. Jal clutched the strap of the blue backpack he carried. “Whoa! You did a number on those demons.”
“Yeah.” The word scraped Liam’s thick wolfish vocal chords.
He could still taste Abrielle’s blood, a metallic, bitter tang which had soon mixed with his own vomit. Liam had never bitten off someone’s neck before, and he hoped he would never have to do it again.
Wheezing breaths rasped his throat as his head whirled violently. He took a step back and slammed a claw on his forehead. A thousand needles might be impaling his brain right now. His light and darkness pulsed weakly inside him.
“I’m shifting back,” he growled.
“Oh, right.” The demon dropped the backpack on the floor and removed some clothes.
Liam’s bones cracked, but they didn’t hurt. Muscle and flesh shrunk, nails became squared and short, his muzzle flattened, and fur retreated into his skin until Liam looked human again. Human and completely naked.
A giant bloodstain covered his mouth and jaw, going all the way down his trunk. He resembled a vamp who just had the meal of a lifetime.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Jal winked at Liam as he handed him the fresh change of clothes. “There’s a river north of here, five minutes on foot.”
Finding the river wasn’t hard. Unlike the pines that lined the riverbanks, water didn’t have any smell. So, he let his demonic senses lead the way into the odorless line that cut through the woods.
Once Liam was clean and dressed, he returned to Jal’s side. The demon led him into an abandoned drain pipe that debouched not far from the clearing.
The path reeked of treated shit, which stank like normal shit. Liam had to control his gag reflexes twice. Considering werewolves had sharper senses than his, they must be truly desperate to be hiding here.
Growls came from ahead, and then a group of seven bulky men stepped in their way. If it weren’t for Liam’s demonic “sixth sense”, he probably would’ve noticed nothing but their shining yellow irises cutting through the pitch-black darkness.
Suther stepped forward from the wall of werewolves and nodded at Liam. “I smell demon blood on you.”
“Yeah.” He sneered. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Well, girl.
“We come for our hearing,” Jal said, “and we bring a sign of good faith.”
Liam took the cue and dropped the duffel bag before Suther, then quickly came back to Jal’s side. Territory and boundaries were key when dealing with wolves.
Suther observed the bag. “I thank you for your offer, but it will not buy your Legion my support.”
Jal crossed his arms. “After all we’ve done, you won’t give us a chance?”
“I must think of my packs.” Suther stared at his own feet. “Their safety comes first.”
Liam saw red. How blind could Suther be? He wasn’t just damning his people; he was damning the entire resistance!
“I bit off someone’s neck for this?” he blurted. “Look, the ‘safety’ you have here is fleeting. The wolfsugar might help you through some full moons, but eventually it will run out, and when it does, we won’t be here to help. You’ll have to face the wrath of the Order and the demons all on your own, and guess what?” He pointed to Suther and his wall of Alphas. “None of you will survive.”
The werewolf lord said nothing.
Jal shook his head. “Your father would be ashamed, Suther.”
“You don’t know how hard it’s been.” The wolf spun around and released a frustrated bark that echoed through the pipe. “Take the wolfsugar back if it pleases you.”
His wolves snarled in protest, but after one glare from their leader, they whined apologetically.
“No, you can keep it,” Jal said, disgust coating his words. “I don’t fancy seeing the extinction of all werewolves in the city, which is where you’re headed if you keep ignoring this war.”
Suther shuffled on his feet, still avoiding Liam and Jal. “How’s Lilith?” he asked quietly.
“She would be better off if her children could feed on wolf blood,” Jal said. “We are fighting the Order and as many demons as we can, but our numbers are dwindling.” He blew air through his lips. “Lilith needs help. We all do.”
“I …” He gulped and turned his back to them. “I’m sorry.”
Jal’s jaw set into a grim line. He tapped Liam’s shoulder and motioned to the exit. “Let’s go. The
re’s nothing here for us.”
Liam watched Suther and his wolves leave. “Your father once said that evil wins when good does nothing.”
“My father is dead!” Suther roared without turning toward them.
All of this had been for nothing, then.
Fucking great.
26
Ava
Ava’s lightning hadn’t killed Sithrael on the spot because of his strong essence. His corpse, however, was nothing but an empty shell.
With his vital energy gone, her light and dark bolts reduced his body to ashes in seconds. Wind blew his remains away, dispersing them throughout the city.
She also had to take care of the blood on the roof—it held Sithrael’s genetic code and could constitute evidence of foul play. Ezra said he would clean it with bleach. Ava couldn’t tell how or why she knew her lightning would work; she simply did.
When she shot her bolts at the blood, their intensity weaker than before, it quickly became ashes that blew into the wind, leaving the concrete clean and untouched.
This way Sithrael would never be found. He would never be mourned.
Two days passed, and Talahel issued search parties to look for his strongest warrior. He claimed the same demons who had killed Vera might’ve taken care of Sithrael.
Funny that he had stopped pinning murders on In-Betweens and now accused demons. Whatever agreement he’d had with them seemed to have fallen apart.
Every time Ava spotted Archangels leaping into the sky and Warriors rushing through the corridors, she rejoiced. The time they wasted looking for Sithrael meant that they weren’t smiting vampires and werewolves.
When Talahel passed by Ava in the Order’s halls, he paid her no attention. To him, she was a silly little Guardian.
Well, this silly little Guardian had killed Sithrael, and she would kill him, too.
Where remorse should’ve been, Ava found only relief. Once she would have regretted ending a life, but not this time.
Not ever again.
By day four, the Sword publicly acknowledged that demonic attacks were rising, and he would send his men to investigate. He was absolutely certain demons had taken Sithrael. He was wrong, of course, but at least now the Order focused on the true enemy.
