“Vale, we need to do the ceremony,” Evelyn said.
He frowned at the interruption. “They need to know, Evelyn. Peiter would want them to know.”
“Peiter is dead. For real,” Mal said.
“Tell us, Vale,” Azazel said calmly. “We want to know.”
Whether he was stalling or whether he genuinely wanted to know didn’t matter; we needed to give our reapers time to figure out a way around these wards. We were fucked otherwise.
Vale nodded. “Yes. Yes, you do need to know. The original Dread were once celestials. They were a special army created by the divine, the hidden charge dreamt into being for a war that the divine knew would come.”
My gaze flicked to Azazel, noting the slight rise of his brows.
“But once the war was over,” Vale continued, “the divine shut the Dread out of the Beyond, forsaking them. Without a connection to the Beyond, without an arrangement with the celestials like the fallen made, the Dread weakened and fell into stasis.”
An arrangement … Like the treaty Azazel had told me about between the Underealm and the Beyond. Was that why we protected humans, to stay connected to the Beyond?
Vale held out his hands, palms upward as if in supplication. “The Dread would have died if not for their children. The second generation of Dread, creatures born from the union of Dread and man, were called to aid their ancestors. Human myth calls this second generation Nephilim, but to you, they’re simply Dread. They fed off reapers and humans to feed the original Dread through their unique celestial connection, and now we, the third generation of Dread, feed the originals by feeding our Nephilim sires.”
My mind struggled to sort through this information. Vale was a Dread, a third-gen Dread, and a Nephilim, who was a second-gen Dread, had created him. The blue-eyed Dread must be Nephilim. So, why was a third-gen like Evelyn in charge of this Hive? Okay, shelve that for later. One thing I knew for sure now was that the real threat, the original Dread, were celestials. Celestials trapped on this plane. And they needed us to … What?
“You will help us open the doors to the Beyond,” Vale said, answering my question.
“You will help us re-establish the connection the original Dread lost eons ago,” Evelyn added. “And it’s all thanks to Vale.”
Vale looked smug. He tapped his head. “It was all here. Buried deep in my ancestral memory. The celestial text, its location, and the fact that it contains the answer to creating a key to open any lock. Once I gave myself to the change, once I accepted it, the answers were there.”
Samael was his ancestor … I guess that confirmed that the myth about Samael being a fallen angel was true because only an ancient celestial could have known about that text.
“You agreed to be turned,” Conah said softly as if absorbing the fact.
So, a Dread could turn a Dominus if he agreed to it?
Vale pouted. “I lost my scythe, though. It went dark. They cut me off, the bastards. As soon as I changed, they cut me off.”
“But we won’t make that mistake this time,” Evelyn said.
The symbols beneath us flared brighter.
The Dread came to their feet as one.
“It’s happening.” Vale’s voice trembled.
What? I looked from Azazel’s tense jaw to Mal’s sneer of disgust and then to Conah, who was looking at Evelyn with sorrow etched onto his handsome face.
She arched a brow at him. “We were never going to last, babe,” she said.
My arm tingled, my hand throbbed, and then my scythe appeared. The guys’ scythes appeared too.
“It’s working,” Vale said.
A Dread, one of those with the ice-blue eyes, joined us on the podium. He shrugged off his robe and stood naked in front of us. Red slice marks marred his pale chest in a symbol identical to the one on the ground. He closed his eyes, tipped back his head, and held out his arms as if waiting to receive a blessing from above.
My scythe began to glow brighter and brighter. “Azazel, what’s happening?”
“The transfer,” Evelyn said. “Your scythes will power the key and open the door. The lost connection to the Beyond will be established once again, and we will all go home.”
Oh, shit. Oh, no. The Nephilim was the key, and we were about to juice him up.
“We have to do something!” Mal cried. He slammed into the invisible barrier that was keeping us trapped. Conah scraped at the markings on the ground with his foot, probably trying to break the spell by disrupting the pattern.
“You can’t stop this,” Vale said. “The symbols are warded against demon intervention.”
This had been a trap all along. Had Kristoff known? Was he in on it, the bastard? I’d wring his neck if he was. My body vibrated as power rushed through me and into my scythe in a circuit that was being tugged and yanked, and any minute now, it would break and spill out into the waiting Nephilim.
We were fucked, so very—
“Hey!”
My gaze shot to the upper level. I squinted against the brightness to make out a slender female figure.
“Cora?”
“How did you get in here?” Evelyn demanded. “Demons can’t get in.”
Cora winked out and then appeared on the podium beside the Nephilim, who was still standing with his eyes closed.
“That’s because I’m not a demon. I’m a fucking tulpa.” She jerked her head up. “And I’m fucking awesome at making friends.”
Dark shadowy forms spilled into the chamber. I caught the flash of talons and the razor edge of teeth, and then the shadowy forms were tearing into the Dread.
I had no idea what those things were, but fuck yes! “The symbol, Cor, you need to fuck it up.”
Cora crouched and rubbed at the glowing paint. A small section peeled away, and as soon as the circle was broken, the glow winked out. The Nephilim with the markings crumpled to the ground. My scythe vanished, and it was as if the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. Exhaustion settled on my shoulders.
Cora grabbed me in a hug as I staggered. “I got you,” she said.
“Who are your friends?” Mal asked.
“Later,” Cora said. “They’re hungry, so we best jet before they decide we look tasty too.”
Conah flicked his wrist, and nothing happened. “Scythes are down, too. We need to retreat.”
I looked up at the hole in the roof. “The roof is still warded.”
“I see it,” Mal said. “There’s a symbol on the wood around the aperture.”
“I can sort it,” Cora said. “Just get me there.”
Conah scooped her up, Azazel grabbed me, and we all flew up to the roof. It took a second for Cora to chip away the paint, and then we were free.
The reapers who’d been frantically circling the building swooped over to join us.
“What the fuck happened?” Sariah asked. Her wings beat the night to keep her in the air.
“Bad shit,” Mal said. “We need to get out of here.”
“What about the Dread.”
“Not today,” Azazel said.
“We’re out of juice.” I held up my hand. It fizzed with light, but no scythe appeared. “Get everyone away from here, stat.”
Sariah flew off, shouting orders to the other reapers.
“Let’s go home,” Conah said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The feeling was slowly returning to my fingers, and the tingling numbness was gone.
Conah handed out glasses of what passed for whiskey here in the Underealm. I took mine gratefully and sipped. Fire raced down my throat and spread through my chest. I blinked back the tears that sprang to my eyes and held up the glass in salutation.
“Good stuff.”
The storm in Conah’s eyes receded a little. “It’ll get your blood flowing properly again,” he said.
“It’ll also put hairs on your chest,” Mal said, and then looked down his top. “Nope, that’s a lie.”
Azazel stood with his back to the flicke
The room fell into silence.
Cora was the first to break it. “Well, at least you know their end game now. Question is how to stop them.”
Our comms beeped with a message from Uri.
The book contains the recipe for creating universal keys to unlock wards and portals.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Mal said. “Bit late now, Uri.”
“We have to get that book back,” Cora said.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. They have the knowledge now. If they survived being attacked by your new friends, they will try again.”
“What were those things?” Azazel asked.
“I’m not sure,” Cora said. “I think … I think they were once dreams.”
I stared at her. “Dreams?”
She smiled softly. “Like me … Except, they never quite made it to tulpa status. They were abandoned, and now they’re trapped in between. They would have killed me if they hadn’t sensed a kinship. They’re starving for life, but they refuse to hurt humans. They don’t want to hurt the innocent either. They sensed my innocence, I guess. It stopped them, and then I told them where they could find some inhuman wankers to feast on.”
“The Dread can’t be killed so easily,” Azazel reminded us. “And now we know why.”
“Do you think Uri knows?” Mal asked.
“I don’t know,” Azazel replied. “I don’t know how things work in the Beyond. But it’s obvious there is more to the story then the Nephilim and the third generation of Dread have been told. These original Dread are hiding something.”
I considered his train of thought. “You think they must have done something to be locked out of the Beyond?”
His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “I don’t know.”
Conah typed a message into his comm. “I’ve dispatched a recon team to scout the estate.”
There was silence once more as we all absorbed the fact that we, the Dominus, were now targets. That the Dread wouldn’t stop until they had the power of our scythes to create their key.
I looked up at Azazel. “So, we make a pact. We don’t go anywhere together, the four of us. And if one is taken, the others don’t go after him or her.” I met each of their gazes. “They need all of us. If they can’t get us together, they can’t complete the key. We need to swear to let one go to save the many.”
“To save the celestials, you mean,” Mal said with a curl of his lip. “Fuck them.”
I glared at him. “You want to risk the Beyond being taken over by Dread? Whatever you think about the celestials, they have humanity’s best interests at heart. We share a goal. Can you say the same for the Dread? We have no idea what havoc they intend to wreak if they get into the Beyond. Are you willing to take the risk?”
Mal made a sound of exasperation then gulped his whiskey. “No.”
“Then we’re agreed,” Conah said. “Never together outside of the Underealm.”
Azazel nodded.
“I kind of feel sorry for them,” Cora said. “They don’t belong here, and they’re trying to go home.” She locked gazes with me. “What if we’re wrong, though … What if they’re just trying to survive?”
The thought brought silence to the room again. We had no way of knowing. Even if Uri did know about the Dread, how much of what he knew would be accurate? He was a lower-tier celestial. Still, we needed to find out.
I tapped a message to Uri on my comm.
Meet me at Lumiers tomorrow at seven pm Necro time.
Cora stood and held her hand out to me. “Come on, babe, you need to get some sleep.”
I took her hand and allowed her to haul me up before pulling her into another hug. “Thank you for saving our asses out there.” I pulled back and looked into her cornflower-blue eyes. “I’m so fucking glad you came with us.”
“No doubt,” Mal said. “We’d be fucked without you.”
She swallowed, then fixed a smile on her face. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me around then, won’t you?”
“Forever.” I linked arms with her. “For always.”
* * *
Cyril
Fee and Cora are safe, and it warms my cold little reptilian heart. The churning in my gut calms as I watch them leave the lounge arm in arm, but I linger. I can taste the apprehension. It’s coming from the big male. Azazel is his name. But it’s more than apprehension. I flick my tongue out and taste fear.
I’m intrigued. What has the monolith got to fear?
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Mal says.
Conah pinches the bridge of his nose. I slide closer to the vent grill to see better. Expressions are just as important as tone, or so I’ve come to realize of late. The vents have yielded many secrets, and not all of them are to be shared.
“I have to,” Azazel says. “Now, more than ever. The protection will save her from the Loup and from Lilith. Then we can worry about the Dread without looking over our shoulders constantly.”
“Let me pay the price,” Mal says. “Hell, I’ll enjoy it. Pain is my bitch.”
Azazel grimaces. “I’m not afraid of pain.”
There’s silence.
“How long has it been?” Mal asks.
“None of your fucking business,” Azazel snaps.
“Why you?” Conah asks. “Do you have history with the witch?”
“I believe she likes the way I look.”
“She wants his cock, brother,” Mal says, but he sounds almost angry. “So now we whore him out for her.”
“Cut the bullshit,” Azazel said. “You’d do the same for her.”
“And I hate myself for it.”
“Annabeth is a bitch.” Conah’s tone is saturated with venom. “There must be someone else we can use to create the enchantment?”
“There was, but rumor has it Annabeth killed her,” Azazel says wearily.
“Rue Mort is a shitty place,” Mal says. “And the bloodwitch is a bitch.”
“It’s one night out of each month. One night to keep the amulet charged.” Azazel stands tall. “To keep Fee hidden.”
“The things you do for Lilith …” There is a sly edge to Mal’s tone.
“Not for Lilith …” Azazel says so softly I almost don’t catch it. “For Fee.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I woke up to sun streaming across my room and Cyril’s narrow reptilian face way too close to mine.
“Tha fuck …” My speech was slurred with sleep. “Backthafuckup.”
“Fee,” he said. “I think sssomething bad is about to happen to Azazel.”
I was instantly wide awake. “Spy mode?”
He slid over my torso and rose up to look down at me. “He’s gone to get your protection amulet.”
“Okay …” I rubbed my eyes. “He said he had someone making it.”
“But he has to pay a price.” Cyril’s head loomed closer. “A nasty one from the sssoundss of it.”
My scalp prickled.
“He’ss seeing a bloodwitch.”
Bloodwitch … Wait, did he mean an independent witch? They used blood and sex to power their enchantments … blood, sex, and pain. The thought of Azazel being bled, of some bitch hurting him, made my blood freeze with horror.
He was willing to do that for me. He was willing to be hurt to protect me … Yes, he was cursed by Eve to keep me alive, but my gut told me this wasn’t about the curse.
Things had changed between us. I touched the mark on my chest. Things had changed even if Azazel didn’t realize it. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Azazel was important to me, maybe because he was my soulmate, but mostly because I fucking liked him as a person, demon, whatever. Maybe it was time to just accept that my fate was tied to his because right now, the urge to take action was a driving force in my limbs.
I shoved Cyril off and clambered out of bed. “I need to stop him.”
I pulled on whatever clothes came to hand.
“Too late. He left an hour ago,” Cyril said.
“What?” I glared at him, hair tie in hand. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
Cyril’s head dipped. “He’sss gone for your protection, Fee … But then, I thought, what would Fee want …”
I wanted to hug him and strangle him at the same time. “I’m glad you told me, Cyril.” I tied my hair back in a messy ponytail. “Do you know where this witch lives? Did you get an address?”
He shook his head. “Her name is Annabeth, and they mentioned Rue Mort.”
Rue Mort … What the fuck was that? I’d never heard of the place. Fuck.
I called Nox.
“Fee, are you okay?” Nox sounded alert and awake. Hell, he was probably already on duty in Necro. The sun would be setting soon, after all.
“Annabeth is a bloodwitch. Do you know her?”
Nox was ominously silent. “Why do you want to find her?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth because it revolved around my ancestry and the protection charm. But I’d learned a long time ago that the lies that held were the ones sprinkled with truth. “I need to find Azazel, and he went to see her. He isn’t answering my comm messages, and I need to speak to him urgently.”
There. No lie in that. Plus, bonus point, he’d buy it because Azazel was the outlier liaison.
“Ah, okay,” he said. “She lives in Rue Mort, Hartley Street. The big house with the broken swing set in the garden. You need a ride there?”
“Please.”
“I’ll be with you in fifteen.”
Fifteen minutes was too long. Azazel had been gone an hour. Oh, God. I needed to get to him fast. I couldn’t let him pay whatever disgusting price this witch wanted. I had to stop him.
* * *
Nox made it to the pinnacle in ten minutes, and we made it to Rue Mort in twenty. We landed on a suburban street that looked like it belonged in the gothic era. The lamp posts were painted black and had actual lantern heads. The ground was cobbled, and the residences were townhouse affairs squished together like thick slices of ham in a club sandwich.
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