Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  Enoch was a blot against the light of the moon. She willed her wings to beat faster, to move her where she needed to go. They were slow to respond, but she followed.

  He was toying with her—stopping mid-air, flying in a loop around the backdrop of the moon. Bastard. Bloody fucking bastard.

  Suddenly she was shooting through the air. She collided with him as he hit the bottom of one of his showy loops. Layla saw a flash of surprise in his eyes, then a grin of satisfaction before they both fell.

  As they tumbled, she clawed at him, gouging his tough skin, black blood splashing hot over her face. He simply laughed and laughed as if she pleased him immensely. It lit her rage. Even as he spun so that he would take the impact of their fall.

  People screamed as Layla and the demon smashed into the pavers so hard that broken slate and dust flew upward. She did not care who saw. She punched and punched with all her might, her limbs shaking, power and loss throbbing in her breast.

  Enoch took the hits for a moment, then thrust her away. Easy as flicking off a bug, and she tumbled back, rolling along the upturned ground. Her back crashed into something hard and sharp. Where were they?

  Trafalgar. They were in the square. Hundreds of humans scurried around, wild-eyed and shocked.

  Enoch stood, his wings stretched wide, his body lengthening to inhuman heights. Nine, ten, eleven feet. “Shall we dance, little girl?”

  Layla rose to her feet and found herself clutching foot-long scythes of obsidian. She had no notion how they’d got there but she suddenly felt as though her mother was at her side, guiding her. Never falter. Kill without hesitation.

  That she would do. She had nothing left to live for but revenge.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sin. Sin.” Something slapped at his face. “St. John!” Another slap, this one hard enough to rattle his brain. Sin lashed out, catching hold of a neck as thick as an ox’s.

  He grasped it hard and squeezed.

  “Oof. Piss and shit.”

  A blow to his arm made him lose his grip. Sin lurched upward, his body sluggish and tender. The world was hazy and too bright. Blinking, he tried to focus.

  Jack Talent knelt before him, rubbing his neck with an irritable expression on his face. “Next time I take you unaware, give me a good punch instead of going for the neck. Bloody hell that’s murder on the throat.”

  Sin rubbed his eyes. “So noted.” Gods, his throat was shredded. He peered at Jack. “Did you try to strangle me as well?”

  Jack fell back onto his rump. “Hardly. We found you laid out and senseless. We’ve been trying to wake you for half an hour.”

  Sin realized then that his sister Daisy was at his side, her soft arm around his shoulders. When had she embraced him? His mind was a muddle, his senses surging and fading like the tides.

  Mary was there as well. Sin accepted the glass of brandy she handed him. “Jack thought it best to take a direct approach and knock you awake.” She shot her husband a look that spoke volumes as to what she thought of that plan.

  “Worked, didn’t it?” Jack groused, taking a glass as well. He drank it down in one gulp.

  Sin did the same, welcoming the burn along his tender throat. “What happened?”

  He was not in his room but in bed in a guest room that he knew to be down the hall from his. Jack and Mary exchanged a look as Daisy’s grip upon his shoulders tightened.

  Sin was ready to start shouting when Daisy spoke. “We found you in your room. It had been destroyed by fire, the windows blown out.”

  He sat straight, his heart racing. “Layla?”

  “She is gone.” Daisy skittered back when Sin shot out of bed. “We heard her scream. In rage, Sin. In rage.”

  Sin was already bolting from the room and seeking out his. Destroyed. He stood amongst the wreckage, fear and foreboding pressing in on his heart. The scent of brimstone was so strong it burned his nostrils.

  Jack trotted in behind him. “She wasn’t taken,” he said. “Ian came into the room in time to see her shoot out of it. She was flying, Sin. On wings like mine.”

  “Then she has fully matured.” He took a breath. He needed to calm. His newly acquired powers slipped and skittered around in his flesh, out of control and barely contained. “Where is Ian?”

  “Something has happened,” Mary said, coming into the room. “It felt like an earthquake but demons are popping up all over London. Not in disguise but as they are. The city is in chaos.”

  Sin glanced out the window as if seeing London for the first time. Black smoke billowed from numerous points on the horizon. He could hear the screaming now. The confusion and fear of humans slammed into his senses like a cold fist.

  Sin tried to shake it off.

  “Ian, Poppy, and Win went to help,” Daisy said, suddenly there. “Miranda and Archer still sleep like the dead. Mary and Jack stayed to watch over them.”

  Sin knew without asking that Jack was itching to get out there and kill demons. But he would not risk the safety of his family to do so.

  “I’ve got to find Layla.” He studied the horizon again. At the center rolled the biggest column of smoke.

  “Trafalgar,” Jack said at his side.

  And that was where he would go.

  Archer

  In Archer’s experience, newlywed couples often thought of “in sickness and in health” in vague terms of dabbing a sweaty brow when one had a fever, perhaps administering pain powders for a headache. It was not until they were into the meat of the relationship when they realized what sickness could mean. That perhaps death was waiting on the other side of that fevered brow.

  Archer and Miranda’s start, however, had been forged by fire, haunted by death and murder. He’d been willing to give up his soul to save her, and she’d risked her life to save his. Therefore, one long, torturous night of holding each other as Augustus’s blood tore through them was of little consequence.

  Being deathly ill to begin with, Archer had the worst of it. He’d known what to expect, and yet it still shocked him, how his body felt as though tiny beasties were eating him up from inside to out. It hurt worse seeing Miranda pant and grit her teeth, determined not to scream.

  Eventually, they fell into an exhausted sleep, too weak to do anything more than hold each other’s hands.

  Awareness eventually crept over him like little cat feet dancing up his spine. He took a breath and felt the clean movement of air traveling through his lungs. No pain. Oh, but the surge of power. Strong, pure, heady. His cock grew hard with it.

  On that odd realization, his eyes snapped open.

  At the very same moment, Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She let out a startled yelp, catching sight of him.

  And Archer could only gape at his wife. “God’s teeth,” he said on a breath. “Just look at you.” She was the most exquisite crystal sculpture come to life.

  “Look at you,” she retorted. “My beautiful man.” With a shaking hand, she reached out and touched the corner of his mouth. “This was the face I saw for the first time.” Her smile was tilted. “Well, half of it at any rate.”

  Her smile faded as she spied her hand, and she lifted it high, wriggling her fingers experimentally. “Gads, that’s a strange sight.”

  Quite suddenly, all he could do was laugh. His chest rumbled with it, and it felt delicious. “What a pair we make now. Perfect fiends.”

  Her gaze met his, and though she had not a spot of color in her, he could well see the heat flare in her eyes. Like a spark to tinder. In a blink, she wrenched off the covers, her eyes traveling over his nudity. He laughed again. “Not much to see, is there?”

  Though now that she’d uncovered them, his gaze riveted to her perfect, pert breasts, like the palest liquid silver. His cock throbbed with impatience.

  Miranda’s gaze narrowed on it. “Oh, I see well enough. And I want to feel this,” she wrapped her hand around his length, her grip assured and wonderfully tight, “inside of me.”

  Archer groaned
, but he was already moving, rolling her over and pinning her to the bed. He thrust into her without warning, knowing she was ready. He could smell her arousal. He could hear the tiny creaks of the bed as he pumped. He could feel everything.

  Archer grinned down at his wife, her lips parted and panting. “Oh, my darling Miri, what fun we shall have.”

  Her smile was wide as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “All that I am, all that I become, is for you.”

  He’d said those words to her long ago, when she’d first unmasked him. Aching in his heart, he leaned down and kissed her. “Only you, Miri. Only you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sin had been correct: When she needed it, Layla’s fighting instincts would kick in. The thought of Sin hurt so badly that she forced it away as she ducked a blow. She was fighting for him now. Later she would mourn. Later she would let her heart break.

  Now, however . . . She grabbed hold of Enoch’s wings, using them for leverage, and fell back, flipping the bastard over her head. The second he landed, she turned and slammed her elbow into his nose. It crunched flat, blood spraying.

  Still the bastard did not stop laughing at her. It drove her to madness. Again and again, she smashed down into his face, turning it to pulp.

  Around them, the square was in ruins. Nelson’s great column had toppled, and water shot up in an unchecked blast from the broken fountainheads. Small fires burned, but a massive ring of never-wavering fire cut the square off from the rest of the world.

  Enoch had done that, heedless of who saw and who was hurt. Humans had burned, deaths so horrible that she’d screamed and launched herself at him again. She hadn’t his strength or his powers. Only this new body of hers, skin a shimmery pale ruby, as if she were made of rose gold, her wings awkward but powerful, capable of knocking statues over with one blow.

  Layla swung her elbow down once more, but Enoch caught it. She’d known he’d been toying with her but she hadn’t realized how much. His grip crushed her bones, and she wailed despite herself, agony racing through her arm. He leapt easily to his feet, his face already healing, taking shape, the blood drying and flaking away like dead leaves.

  Chuckling, he wrenched her useless arm behind her back and hauled her against him.

  “Mmm, I do love to dance with you, Layla.” He ground his erection into her backside. “You are a worthy partner.”

  Sickened, she thrust her head back and saw stars when her skull met with his face. His grip slipped, and she turned round to punch his throat. He countered with a slap, hard enough that she staggered back. Blood pooled in her mouth.

  Enoch grabbed her by a wing and twisted. Pain ripped down her spine. “Now, now, I should hate to tear these off,” he said lightly. “They will take some time to regrow and it hurts like the devil.” He grinned wide. “I’ve met him, you know. Bit of a bore. However, I do suspect he’d like you.”

  “Perhaps I shall offer him a dance as well.” Layla kneed Enoch in the stones.

  Like all males, he hunched over with an “oof!”

  With a thought, she called forth her blades once more. She’d lost them somewhere along the way, but a voice in her head whispered that they would always return to her. Cool obsidian pressed against her palms. Layla swung, but not soon enough.

  Enoch lashed out and an invisible blade sliced through her middle. Her vision dimmed, her knees gave out. She crumpled to the ground just as she heard a shout.

  That voice. She knew it.

  “Layla!”

  Through the black edges of her sight, she saw him walking through the fire, his body gleaming, his eyes brilliant green in all that crystalline beauty. Wings flared out behind him; lightning crackled over his frame.

  “Sin.” He was here. He was here.

  Enoch grinned down at her. “How weak of mind you are to believe my illusions.”

  A sob ripped from her. She’d played right into his hands. Leaving Sin and destroying London with her rage. Enoch’s massive hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing so tightly she could barely draw a breath. He held her close as Sin strode across the square. “Unless you’d like me to tear her head off,” Enoch said, “I suggest you stop.”

  Sin halted, his chest heaving with each deep breath he took. His body trembled and Layla knew he felt the same rage she had, that he was struggling to keep control.

  Tremors went through the earth. In the distance came the sound of church bells clanging as though the shaking ground had rung them.

  “You will not hurt her,” Sin ground out. “It is me you want to destroy.”

  Enoch’s thumb ran down the side of her neck. “True. I’d much rather fuck this one.”

  Blasts of icy cold mixed with flares of heat. Overhead clouds gathered, black and filled with flashes of light. Sin’s eyes flickered clear and then green again. He was shaking so hard his wings fluttered.

  And Enoch laughed. “I see you have Augustus’s powers. Hard to control, aren’t they, boy?”

  Sin did not answer, but Layla looked at him anew. Good God, it was true. Power rolled over him in violent waves. He was as volatile as liquid nitrogen. That would be a comfort but Layla understood as clearly as Enoch did: Sin out of control meant he was less able to direct his powers.

  “Are you going to fight me?” Sin said. “Or hide behind Layla?”

  “Oh, we shall fight,” Enoch said. With that, he dragged Layla back until her wings met the cool granite of the plinth that had once held Nelson’s column. She’d barely blinked when he conjured two great spears of obsidian and slammed them through her wings, pinning her to the plinth.

  She screamed and Sin shouted, rage and horror tinging his voice. He launched himself at Enoch, trying to get past him to free her. But the Damnation caught Sin in his arms, and they both went tumbling.

  Pain shot through Layla as she watched them roll in a fury of fists. Lightning arched and crackled around them, singeing the air. All the while the earth trembled, great chunks of it rising, bringing forth the scent of soil.

  Enoch flew through the air as Sin struck him full force in the chest. He landed with a thud, his body sliding a few feet. Sin stretched out a hand, and the toppled column lifted from the ground. He swung his hand forward, and as if heeding his command, the column flew across the square and crashed into Enoch.

  The demon’s legs twitched then stilled. Instantly, Sin sent a blast over the column and Enoch’s legs disappeared under a wall of crystal clear ice.

  Sin turned and his gaze clashed with hers. “Layla,” he whispered, the desperate sound carrying over the space between them.

  He took one step in her direction, and then ice exploded, sending a blast of frost over everything. Enoch stood tall and unharmed. He took a deep breath and seemed to expand. “Do you not realize, boy? You cannot win. We are evenly matched. Final Judgment and Absolute Damnation. We could fight forever, grind this town to dust, and it would not end. Your family will be hunted, humans destroyed. And all that will remain will be you and me and this pitiful half-breed girl.”

  “And yet I will not stop protecting Layla,” Sin said. “Not while I have breath in my body.”

  Layla felt the truth of his words. Sin would fight for her without end.

  “Good,” Enoch bit out. “For with every blow we exchange, with every earthquake you cause, more and more of my brethren come into this world. Augustus foresaw this, as did my maker. You and the girl. Abomination and betrayer. Two beings that should not be.” He spat a glob of black blood on the ground. “You upset the balance. And now the worlds have collided.”

  Layla’s heart pounded, pain throbbing in her wings. No; she was the one who’d upset the balance. She was both Judgment and Damnation. And she had to choose a side or the imbalance would remain.

  “If I vow to remain with you,” she called out to Enoch, “will you vow to leave Sin be?”

  “No,” Sin shouted, the sound so loud her ears hurt. He whipped around, his expression shattered. “No, Layla. Neve
r.”

  Enoch was the cat eating the canary. “Done.”

  Layla held Sin’s gaze. “You cannot control this. It is my vow to give. My decision.”

  In an instant Sin was in front of her, his eyes wild. He wrenched the spikes free. With a cry, she sagged against him. He held her close, his body so alive and strong. She soaked up his heat, reveled in the fact that he was here. “I thought you dead,” she said, clinging to him. “His illusions. I saw your body.”

  Sin’s fingers threaded through her hair to the point of pain. But she welcomed it. His heart beat a furious rhythm against his chest as he pressed his lips to her temple. “I cannot live without you, Layla. Stop this madness.”

  “Enough with this stalling,” Enoch called out. “I tire of waiting.”

  Sin snarled, his body turning as if to attack, but Layla held him back. His eyes were wide and green, pain in his gaze. “Layla.”

  She touched his cheek. “Saint, love without trust means nothing. I choose this.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “You tear my heart out.”

  She said nothing more but moved away. His arms fell at his sides, his body trembling once more. She knew he was fighting the instinct to haul her back with all he had.

  Hear my words, she said silently, hoping he would. Remember what I said. Trust, Saint. Trust.

  Sin watched the woman he loved more than anything walk away from him. Nothing compared to that pain. He couldn’t look at the bastard she went to. He would break if he did. She was sacrificing herself for him. He was not worth that.

  A growl tore from him, and he took a step forward, ready to pull her back into his arms, her plea be damned, when her voice, clear as crystal, rang in his head.

  Hear my words. Trust, Saint. Trust.

  He halted, brought short by it. Trust? His body tingled, the powers he’d acquired still running amok just beneath his skin. She wanted him to trust her. She had a plan.

  His gaze snapped to her retreating form, her slim back ramrod straight.

  Enoch opened his arms to her but it was Sin’s eyes he met. Smug, sodding bastard. He was so sure of his victory. Sin ground his teeth, let him see his hatred and frustration, let it pour out of him in punches of power so strong the entire square frosted over. The ring of fire that Enoch had created died on a hiss, and all that was left was silence and cold.