None.
She yanked the grating off, surprised she didn’t even grunt from the effort. The first rays of sunlight touched her wings. She spun and watched the sky redden, then pink bled into the red, followed by a deep orange glow as the sun crowned the horizon. I have to find Bane.
The temperature seemed to jump ten degrees and the wind kicked up, got under her wings, even though she had them tucked or else she’d be flung off the roof. She gripped the vent to hoist herself inside when the air in the center of the helipad warped. Light struck the area and rippled, then seemed to curve around an invisible object. Sunlight danced along the edges refracting into a rainbow. An orb took shape, approximately four by four in height and width. As suddenly as it appeared, it dissipated, and a silver disc remained.
She had no idea what the Cruor looked like, but it was a good bet she’d found it. Rather, it had found her. Cautiously, she approached. It wasn’t what she expected. First, it was small, four by four in size. Second, the damn thing was pretty. The rim was silver, while the interior appeared to be crimson lightning trapped inside the glass middle.
Arresting was how she’d describe her initial impression. Standing in its presence, it captivated her senses as nothing ever had in the same way a stunning piece of jewelry she could never afford had mocked her with its brilliance.
She reached for it, the urge to run her finger over the surface was too much to resist. Touch it, feel it, merge with it, let it sink beneath her skin, become one with it, keep it, own it, the last thought blossomed to a burning need.
“I cannot be any luckier.”
Amaya spun, her brain sloshed around her cranium as if she was drugged, and her vision winked. When it cleared, the Spaun who’d attacked her stood five yards away. And he had a friend, a thin, wiry dude who didn’t seem to care about hygiene.
“No. You cannot. Your luck has run out.” Came a graveled voice to her right.
The Spaun shed their human façades. Pasty parchment skin replaced their clothing, claws replaced hands as their bodies contoured into new, monstrous shapes. They faced the newest rooftop guest. “Malphas,” the one who’d attacked her at the farm spat.
Amaya spun and swallowed her gasp behind a stoic mask. The Demoni Lord was huge, at least six eight with a body built like a linebacker. Four hundred pounds of muscle, she guessed, all of it packed into a three piece expertly tailored suit. He had wavy brown hair with blond highlights glinting in the sunlight, a prominent square jaw, generous mouth, and eyes the color of cognac with a visible red rim. She saw all of this, even though he was backlit by the sun.
He focused on the Spaun, not her, which is exactly what she wanted. Damn! His gaze shifted to her and she imagined that’s what a freight train felt like when it T-boned a car. She expected nothing less. Though she’d only learned of his exalted existence days ago, he lived up to her conjured imaginings. He was the big bad boogeyman in the new world she inhabited, and he embodied every inch of that moniker.
His gaze slid her way and he smiled at her, not like a predator sizing up his next meal, but a genuine smile, with a wink thrown in for good measure. The Spaun closed in on him, his gaze never strayed from Amaya.
She broke the connection first, to glance over his shoulder. The sun was gone, swallowed by a cloud that came from the ground instead of the sky. It wasn’t shaped like any cloud she’d ever seen. It was a massive gray wall stretching across the entire horizon. It barreled toward them, gaining speed and debris, bringing the night. Dust storm, she thought. One had struck a small Texas town last year. The video of it rolling across the businesses and homes had gone viral.
The Spaun attacked Malphas. He flung one to the side in the same manner as tossing trash in the garbage. The Spaun caught the safety rail and hoisted himself back onto the roof. He jumped on Malphas’s back as the other one rushed for Amaya while she darted for the Cruor. She’d almost made it when dust pelted every inch of her body. It got into her mouth, her lungs, her eyes, weighed her wings down.
Her objective hadn’t changed. She needed to touch the Cruor, now more than ever. She stretched out her hands, streamlined her body, was so close to touching its exquisite surface, when she was tackled from behind at the same time the roof crumbled under her feet.
39
Amaya kept falling, time and distance ceased to matter, especially with claws shredding her wings and digging into her back. She twisted in time to have the Spaun take the brunt of the impact of the collapsing roof, and used the momentum to rip free of his claws. Cement, steel, piping, insulation, duct work, they smashed through the roof and into the room below. She caught a glimpse of a large conference room with a panoramic view of the city and sunlight…and the UnHallowed.
Kushiél, Chayyliél, Rimmon, Ioath—he must’ve joined with them in the conduits— Zedekiél, and Bane. All were smoldering, smoke rising from their skin. Bane shouted her name, yet she heard it as if her head were underwater. She tried to stand, but couldn’t. The Spaun had her hands. He was beneath her, on top of the Cruor, which lay beneath him.
“Rimmon! Now,” Bane screamed.
“Trying! This doesn’t come natural for me anymore.” Hands above his head, sparks flared from Rimmon’s fingertips.
“Do it or we fry before we even get in the fight,” Kush groaned, down on one knee. His skeletal wings were flared, throwing a miniscule amount of shade over Chay who knelt beside him.
All at once, the dust storm swallowed the building. Outside the windows, airborne dirt returned the city to night. Bane raced toward her. Kush and Zed raced for the Cruor. Ioath grappled with one of the Spaun. Malphas, she didn’t see. Was he still on the roof?
The Spaun pitched her off him, she reversed his grip and refused to let him go. Her wings flared, caught the air, and bent at an odd angle. She couldn’t right them as she approached a window, and the heart of the churning dust storm outside the building, because of the Spaun struggling in her grasp. If they didn’t stop, they’d both be through the window and in the maelstrom.
Something hit her, knocked her across the room into the wall. The Spaun slipped from her grasp, ran past her. If she didn’t do something, he would beat Kush and Zed to the Cruor. She shoved away from the wall and screamed, “Get the Cru—” All the windows shattered. Rimmon was on his knees, his hands clutching his throat. The Spaun Ioath had fought stood over Rimmon, the tip of his white tail coated gray.
She didn’t understand until gray blood seeped between Rimmon’s fingers, but then the dust storm rushed in, carried by hurricane force winds, and quickly died. Rimmon—formerly the Archangel of Storms—had created the storm to shield the UnHallowed from the sun. And now, bleeding out, he couldn’t.
Energy pulsed through the room, slamming into the UnHallowed. Helpless, she watched them tumble out of the windows, into the burgeoning sun.
40
Bane! The horror on his face etched into her brain except…it wasn’t for himself. His gaze was focused on something over her shoulder. She didn’t care what was behind her. Getting to Bane, saving him, saving the UnHallowed—all of them—that’s what mattered. Whatever danger lay at her back would have to wait.
She glimpsed the Spaun dragging the Cruor into a dimensional pocket as she streaked past, headed for the windows, headed for Bane, and the rest of the UnHallowed. A sudden, a crushing weight landed on her back, pinned her to the floor amidst the broken glass, gouging her cheek and neck. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, all she could do was stare at the sun beaming brightly, and scream.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Amaya kept her eyes closed. Sharp points of the rocky surface she lay on dug into her hands, breasts, knees, cheek. She had the sense nothing was broken and took a modicum of comfort in her wings splayed over her.
The last minutes of consciousness came to her in flashes and she flinched from the pain. Were they alive? Only Kush had wings, though they were nothing more than skeletal frames. She had no idea if Rimmon had wings. Shouldn’t
the Archangel of Storms have wings? If he did, could he have saved all of them? The hotel had eighty floors. That’s a long way to fall, in the sun, burning.
If Daghony could survive, so could they. She’d hold on to that, it’s all she had.
Amaya cracked open her eyes a smidgen. She was in a cell, lying next to thick bars. She had to be underground, deep underground by the dark rock wall facing her and the towering roof. Or was the surface charred? No stalactites hanging from the ceiling and most important, no bats. Means she wasn’t laying in guano. She pushed off the surface and groaned. Everything from the neck down hurt.
“Easy now. Take things slowly.”
Gentle hands gripped her shoulders. Amaya jerked away and crashed into the wall, her heart racing, hoping—only to be crushed. She didn’t know who it was. Outside the cell, on the other side of a glass barrier, a weak lantern threw off enough light to keep the man’s upper half in the shadows. All she knew was that it wasn’t Bane or the other UnHallowed.
His hands rose, in a symbolic sign of surrender. “I mean you no harm.”
Her fingers curled and rose to defend herself. “If that’s the case, step into the light.”
The man took one step forward.
The roar came from the pit of her stomach and blazed through every pore of her body, whipping her into a violent frenzy as soft yellow light washed across the face of the man that killed her savior, her mentor, the only father she’d ever known.
Epilogue
“Are we going to do nothing?”
Michael weighed his reply to Gabriél’s question, hoping to quell his rising fury, then he spoke slowly. “There is nothing to do for which we are allowed.”
“Have you asked?” Gabriél’s speckled, gold tipped wings flared, brushing Michael’s wings.
“Of course I have,” Michael snapped and put some distance between them. His patience at the brink of shattering, he couldn’t stand the inadvertent contact.
“Recently?” Gabriél demanded.
“Repeatedly,” Michael replied, somehow keeping the heat from his voice.
Gabriél stormed away from the balcony, leaving Michael to continue watching the drama play out alone from his perch in Heaven.
Michael studied the earth rotating below Heaven. He studied the humans scurrying to and fro, consumed with their mundane lives. Those imperfect creatures and their blessed ignorance, he’d never envied them, until now. A storm approached, one that would wipe clean everything they knew and alter the existence of Heaven, Hell, and life on Earth.
Truth be told, he found it hard to generate the appropriate concern. The die had been cast and he would carry the blame. That wasn’t the cause of his apathy.
I must find her.
He’d searched everywhere, turned over every stone. There wasn’t a square inch on the planet or in the heavens she could have hidden. That left one place. The one place he couldn’t go without expressed permission, permission he did not have.
G
emma stumbled. Knees and hips buckled and the rest of her joints threatened to buckle as well. The help of a wall at her back kept her upright, though not for much longer. Time ceased to matter in Hell. One second could equal one year. One year could equal a millennia. And vice versa. Or not. Everything she saw, felt, did, could all be an illusion. Hell preyed on the weakest point in its inhabitant’s psyche, exploiting that weakness in exacting detail, until all that was left was that weakness. The inhabitant became what they’d strived not to be for the rest of eternity.
That was the place Gemma found herself mired in as she faced off against the last Demoni Lord. The other three had limped away, nursing injuries that would’ve killed an immortal. She wished she had been the cause of all their wounds, but their blood loss and missing limbs happened when they turned on each other. Seemed angelic flesh was a delicacy the underworld rarely enjoyed. She’d never felt more special.
Or more afraid.
Gemma faced the fourth Demoni. He was built along the same lines as archangels—tall and muscular. His skin was parchment thin enough to view his inky essence surging beneath the transparent layer. The effect gave him a smoky, marbled appearance. He moved in and out of the shadows, keeping his facial features hidden. She wondered why when he readily displayed his loincloth covered body. The battle between herself and the Demoni had raged for months, if she trusted her internal clock. Never had she fought so hard, so long, used every skill, every tactic, and yet, the four still lived. She hadn’t even managed to scratch them, so ineffectual was her attack. She hadn’t even had a chance to explore, to search for an escape.
She had one tactic left, one fail safe measure she could employ, but if she didn’t succeed, the blight of this world would pollute her celestial aura and she’d truly be lost.
Sweat trickled into her eyes. She blinked the distraction away to find the Demoni closer. Just out of striking range. Until he extended his hand and gestured for her to come to him. One swing of her blade and she lopped it off at the wrist.
His hand landed with a thud, flipped onto its palm and skittered around in a dizzying circle. The Demoni smashed it under his heel with a disturbing squish.
Dear Father! A single touch from her empyreal sword should have incinerated the being in an instant.
A tremor went through his arm, starting at his shoulder and traveled all the way down to the bleeding stub at the end. His blood sizzled on contact with the ground. His head tipped to the side, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them sizing her up, taking her measure since he hadn’t the chance when he fought the others.
He pivoted and walked away. The shadows on the peripheral scurried in the opposite direction as he approached, leaving an open pathway behind him.
Gemma cut to the left. She chose the unknown nebulous expanse over following a Demoni. The landscape wasn’t the place of never ending night she had expected. There were degrees, from smoky to black hole level darkness. She could see through the different gradients, if there was anything to look at. Her feet sunk into the sandy ground with each step, as if there was a beach with rolling waves waiting to be discovered. Nothing so benign lay in wait here. And nothing attacked as she trudged along, her steps faltering, her sword dragging because she dare not put it away, even though she barely had enough energy to carry it. She tried to take flight, but her wings wouldn’t open. Too afraid to reach behind to feel their condition or worse, feel if there was emptiness in their place, she kept moving.
Thoughts of her men kept her going. Had they searched for her? Did they have time to search with the ongoing war? How did they fare in the battles? How many had she lost? She’d spent one day as captain, then ended up in Hell. The new chancellor must have replaced her by now, but with whom?
On and on, the questions continued as a mile became ten, then one hundred. Her feet couldn’t tell the difference, but her body registered each agonizing footfall. It didn’t make sense. At the dawn of the first epoch, angels battled the horde of the Demoni Lords for ten millennia without ceasing until they were all imprisoned. Why now, after so short a time, was she failing?
It had to be this place. Hell. It was poisoning her, mind and body. She caught the scent of water and her tongue withered. The tantalizing aroma of food cramped her stomach. Thirst and hunger, things angels didn’t need, tormented her. She needed help. Where were Dina and Gideon? Maybe they could aid each other and find a way to exist in this place until they were saved. It wasn’t likely when it was their fault she was in this situation, but it was the only hope she had.
A lightning bug zigzagged in front of her eyes. Enraged, she swung her blade at it, determined to kill the insect. The agile bastard dodged each thrust of her sword and darted away. She gave chase until she went down in a tangle of limbs.
Gemma didn’t know how long she lay there. Alive, yet helpless. Any moment, something would come along and kill her. She prayed it would happen quickly and that the light within her would rejoin the Celestial Order to be
passed to the next angel.
She registered the solid thud of approaching footsteps. Instinct had her pushing away from the ground to die on her feet. Exhaustion kept her in the exact spot where she’d collapsed. She offered no resistance when feet, clad in leather skins, came into view and stopped beside her face. She strained to look up, to see the rest of him, and got no further than a muscular pair of calves.
She blinked and when her eyelids lifted, she was limp in someone’s arms. Head lolling upside down, her blurry vision focused on a light flickering in the distance. It grew into a lantern illuminating the inside of a bush tent. Carried inside and placed on a bed, Gemma sank into the unexpected softness. A slow blink allowed the room to come into focus. Desk, lantern, hammock. A bundle of incense burned in a holder on the edge of the table. The scent reminded her of the rainforest deep in South America—earthy, wet, yet perfumed from the myriad of blooming flowers.
Fingers stroked her face. She tried to slap them away and failed to move a single muscle.
“Sleep,” a voice rumbled.
She didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t need to sleep. Fingers continued to stroke her skin, further lulling her senses. Her vision faded even as she fought to stay awake. She couldn’t. Sleep meant certain death, yet she hadn’t the power to stop the slide into unconsciousness. Gemma clung to the last shred of awareness, a lifeline to the dying. Just as the last vestiges of her mind gave way, the most stunning sunburst, gold-rimmed eyes she’d ever seen came into view.
The End.
Glossary
THE ANGELS
Braile— Chancellor of the Celestial Army.
Gabriel— Archangel, The Strength of God.
Gemma—warrior class angel, Captain in the Celestial Army.
Michael—Archangel, Seraph to the Throne, Angel of Protection.
Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Page 23
