by Inez Kelley
“Where am I?”
His head tilted, his mouth lifting into a perfect smile. “Barzakh. It is the timeless sleep of the soul. Now it is time to come home, Lacy.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed then cringed. “Sorry.”
He laughed in a rolling cadence of drums and trumpets. “It is excused. Come, join me.”
One strong but perfect hand reached out to her. She put her hand in his and stepped forward, unable to see her own body but feeling the warmth of his. “Where are we going?”
“Where would you like to go? In this realm, all things are possible.”
Confusion sloughed off some of her wonder. “But don’t I have to be judged? Isn’t it the End of Days?”
“You know your faith well.” The Vangeli tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and guided her toward the light. His soft chuckle vibrated his ribs along her fingers. “That will come in time. For now, I seek only to bring you joy, pleasure. Tell me what you desire and I shall deliver it to you.”
Something was off. Why did she have to wait for Judgment if she was being Awoken? Why was she being rewarded first?
“Is my mother here? How much time has passed since I died?” The Vangeli was silent and apprehension roiled through her. “Has it been long?”
“Time has little meaning here. It has been what it has been.”
“And Annie? Can I see her?”
“In time. This journey is for you.”
There was no floor and no walls but dread closed in around her. This wasn’t right. “What’s your name?”
His dazzling grin reflected the light. “I am called Samael.”
“Samael?” Icy terror slipped her hand from his arm. She took two steps backward. “You’re Satan.”
The peaceful grin slid from his lips but he snapped it back into place. “Lacy, how fanciful you are. Can you not see I am a servant of the Creator of All?”
“I know who you are.”
Cold calculation frosted his eyes. “Lacy, come with me.”
“No. I won’t serve you.”
In a whoosh of light, his wings peeled away. The robe was replaced with a charcoal business suit and crisp white shirt. His face went hard, his mouth cruel and his forehead knotted. She whirled around but could see nothing. She ran, tearing into the blackness screaming for help. She had no idea how long she ran, but sweat streamed down her face and her thighs burned. Her throat was raw from yelling but she didn’t stop.
“Help me! Someone, please. Oh God, help me!”
“He can’t help you.”
She crashed straight into his chest. Her fists balled, fighting and struggling, but there was no escape. A hard punch knocked her to her knees. The sharp flavor of blood filled her mouth but she scrambled, fleeing on hands and knees. He slammed into her back and pinned her to the invisible floor.
“Stop fighting me. You won’t win. I possess your soul, Lacy. You belong to me for eternity.”
Drawing strength from somewhere deep, she rammed her head back into his nose. He growled, gripped her hair and smashed her face into what felt like solid concrete.
“This would’ve been so much nicer if you hadn’t known the truth. So the Forsaken broke their Holy silence and told you of me? Bastards.”
He kicked her ribs, the crunch of bone preceding a knife-like pain that cut her in half. He used his foot to roll her to her back. Every ounce of his beauty was gone, pure evil left in its place. “I wanted to show you pleasure before persuasion, but they leave me no choice. A pity. The thought of fucking you on the beach before I shredded your will had made me hard for weeks. Oh well, life’s a bitch.”
Something unbreakable and binding wrapped around her, lifted her to face him. Somehow, she was now nude. His eyes raked over her. “We haven’t much time but let’s begin slow and easy, shall we? What makes you cringe, Lacy?”
He touched two fingers to her forehead and his eyes closed. Nothing responded when she demanded her body move, fight, kick him in the balls, cry out. She was frozen, not even able to blink. A tingle, almost a burn but not painful, grew under his touch.
“Seriously? You are that dull?” Disgust curled his lip as he pulled his hand away. “This won’t take long at all then.”
Something soft and moving touched her toes. The wiggling warmth crept higher, past her knees and onto her hips. Oh no, it couldn’t be…
A silent scream exploded inside her. Maggots crawled up her body, every inch filled with squirming little worm-like bodies. “This should work for starters. I’ll bring the spiders next. Enjoy your pets.”
Her jaw swung free of his invisible hole. “I’ll never bow to you.”
“They all say that.” Anger flashed in his eyes before an evil grin peeled his lips back. “And yet, they all do bow, eventually.”
Blackness encased her with his departure. She could see nothing but she could feel them. Millions of them skittered up her belly, dipping into her navel and climbing higher. Lacy tried to calm her panicked mind. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. She only had to withstand his torture for fourteen days, right? Or had she been dead for days? She had no sense of time.
A scream in a familiar voice burrowed beneath her skin and chilled her blood. “Annie?”
“Lacy, help me!”
“Annie, where are you?” Lacy struggled against her bonds but she couldn’t move. The maggots climbed higher. Annie’s cries grew louder, more pain-filled and frantic. Desperation should have given Lacy strength but she couldn’t get free. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she begged, pleading with the darkness to save Annie. She heard nothing but her sister’s anguish.
Then the maggots crawled into her nose and dripped into her throat.
The Watchers’ prison was unlike anything on Earth and yet, was an exact replica of where they’d lived. Gabriel had designed the perfect place to keep them bound but give them freedom. It had taken months for the Seven, joined by the Seraphim Guard, to hunt down every single Irin.
Sela ducked behind a stone-stacked home, scouring the area. Irin roamed about, speaking, fighting, eating. They went about their normal lives without interference or shackles. Invisible walls served as their jails. No human blood could pass into or out of the Watcher’s Glen. Their very mixed blood prevented their leaving but it also meant she could not use her men to aid her.
Those Vangelus who had sired them were welcome, and often came and went unscathed but others avoided the Glen. Sela hadn’t stepped foot inside since she slammed the invisible gates shut after imprisoning the last Irin alive. For that, her name was one of the most reviled in the Glen. She could stand being hated. Big deal. It was their half-Vangeli blood that concerned her. It gave them the power to injure her when no human could, not even turned-humans who served Samael.
Cool stone pressed along her spine, the scents of raw meat and filth gagging her. She would never die here. That was impossible. It took pure Vangeli blood to kill another Vangeli. That didn’t mean she wanted to suffer if she could avoid it, either. Her fingers played with her sword hilt. She could slay them all, but no, that was forbidden. Vicious, immoral and without compassion, they were still the first-born children of Vangeli.
A shout braced her, preparing her for flight, and her wings twitched in anticipation. She hadn’t flown with wings in centuries. One white-robed figure stomped from a cottage, dragging another by the hair. Only the huge breasts pushing out at the robe showed the aggressor was a female. The one she dragged behind her was male. A hugely muscled and hairy leg crashed into his face until blood stained the ground. No one looked twice or tried to intervene. Violence was the Irin way of life.
Garbed in white hooded robes, four Irin gazed into a well. That well didn’t draw water, but sight. A blue-tinged glow let them see their violence-begotten offspring and their descendants at birth and death. One Irin took a charcoal stick and made scratching movements on a large parchment tacked to a building wall. The parchment was nearly full. Her eyes locked on that rectangle.
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The Eyts Vangelus. If she could steal that, her men would know exactly where Samael stored all his sleeping Scion. Never before had she dared to return to this damned place but now that she was here, she was going to aid her men and her mission as best she could. That surge of adrenaline faded quickly. The Eyts Vangelus was too huge to remove without notice but if she could get close enough to read it, she’d know where Lacy’s soul was being kept.
Sela needed everyone away from the well, away from the parchment. Fisting a handful of rocks, her gaze drifted toward a smoking fire roasting meat on a spit. The meat resembled the leg that had smashed into the other’s face. That was another trait of the Irin, cannibalism. Swallowing disgust, she stepped from her hiding place and hurled the rocks.
Every head swiveled toward the thwapthwapthwap of stone hitting the foliage outside the village circle. Most went to investigate. She smirked. Irin weren’t especially bright. Only one white-hooded form remained by the well. It was a better chance than she’d hoped for. She unfurled her wings and swooped.
A roar went up, Irin she hadn’t seen pouring from cottages. She gritted her teeth and dove, her course already set. No time to read now. Her fingers snagged the bottom edge of the parchment as she zipped around, changing course without her feet touching the ground. It ripped soundlessly, or maybe she simply couldn’t hear the tear over the cacophony of alarm spreading through the village.
One Irin cried her name and the alarm turned to rage. Daggers, knives, arrows and plain old rocks flew at her. Her flight dipped and dodged, veered up then left, avoiding the first wave. A sharp sting scored her thigh but she angled low, squeezing tight between two boulders as she fled the village circle. Pain assaulted her, tiny bites along her feet, legs and stomach. She tapered her wings and soared lower, skimming the ground to prevent greater injury.
If the Glen had been truly open, she’d have soared high, out of their range, but Gabriel had capped it to prevent them from climbing out. Even she could only enter or leave through the hidden gates. The closest gate was just over the valley and she aimed her path straight for it.
Sudden agony rolled in her in the air. Blood spewed from her neck in feathery arches. Ripping the arrow free, she swallowed the taste of copper with her cry. The cry got its freedom when her wing broke, victim of a hurled spear. Pain spread down to the tip and she spiraled like a falling stone. The impact ripped the breath from her lungs but her legs scrambled, pushing off the dirt and racing toward the wall. A spear sank into her back and her knees hit the ground. Huge, bruising hands were on her before she could blink.
Stars popped in her sight as a hammering fist met her face. She kicked out, not enjoying but taking satisfaction in the resounding yelp. She fought, but there were so many, all with an inhuman strength and the blood-power to inflict pain on her.
“Sela!”
The shout of her Earthly name turned her head. A lone figure stood outside the invisible wall-line. Covered head to toe in a white Watcher’s gown, the man from Michael’s Hall beckoned her. Urgency lined his face. “Make ready!”
A bow appeared from behind him, two notched arrows set afire. His bowstring sang and the dual arrows flew, stopping in the foreheads of the two who held her. She was forbidden to use weapons against the Irin but this Awoken man wasn’t. Hope funneled power to her legs and she kicked out, knocking her batterer away.
More flaming arrows sailed, always in twos and always striking flesh. Sela scrambled toward him. Three times she had to spin and swing, knocking her assailants back but more poured toward her.
“Come, hebi, hurry!”
She ran, fueling all her waning strength into her legs. Only twenty feet separated them when the spear arched through the air and lodged in her spine. Twenty feet and an undetectable wall he could not penetrate. Dirt filled her mouth as she fell.
The man in white roared. Her fingers dug into grass and small pebbles, pulling herself closer to him. An Irin grabbed her ankle, wrenched her leg and bit. An unearthly scream tore from her throat. She jabbed, catching him in the throat and knocking him loose. She crab-crawled backward, one leg dragging uselessly.
As one, the Irin stopped their pursuit. Howls and frustrated anger boomed in her ears as hard hands gripped her arms, pulling her upright. “You made it. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Dark and warm, his eyes brimmed with kindness, with admiration and with something deeper, something close to desire. He tore the spear from her back, sending hot blood gushing down her spine. For one long heartbeat, he just held her. Then he bent, swooped an arm under her bleeding legs and lifted her to his chest. Solid, ridged muscles pressed against her thigh. The wound in her throat had severed her vocal cords and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t thank him or ask who he was.
“So fierce, hebi. But rest easy. I’ll take you to your men. Tell me where.”
Incapable of words, Sela used the very last of her strength to raise her arm and press her fingertips to his forehead. His hood fell back exposing a shaved head. Her blood smudged his amaretto-colored skin as her hand fell away. He nodded, taking the knowledge she gave, and Leaped as she gave in to the black.
Zale paced, a surplus of adrenaline with no outlet itching on his skin. The Quad was full light, near afternoon, and not one man had moved. Vike sat silently, his back pressed against the huge boulder, his cheeks lined with dried tears. The others grumbled with worry and impotent energy.
Sela knew better. She shouldn’t have gone to Michael. He’d refuse her because he could. Zale kicked a small stone. What could he do? Nothing. He was trapped, as always, on this mortal plane with no way of reaching her, no way of freeing her from the monsters who’d rather feast on her flesh and laugh, knowing it would regenerate and feed them again. He’d seen firsthand the sadistic appetites of the Irin. His now-human stomach clenched in memory.
Omen surged to his feet, barking and snarling toward the boulder, his ears laid flat. Zale spun.
Standing atop the huge rock, a man in the white robes of a Watcher held a bloody Sela in his arms. Weapons appeared in every Forsaken hand, Vike surging to his feet with a curse. They couldn’t strike with Sela in his arms. Questions flew from every direction.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“What did you do to her?”
“How’d you find this place?”
“Put her down and fight, you son of a bitch.”
The man never moved. His scrutiny tripped over them all as he sized each one up. His gaze lit on Zale and he nodded. “You. Take her.”
Zale sent his sword to his tattoo and approached the rock, never moving his focus from the man in white. He cradled Sela as if she were made of glass, bounding to the ground but keeping his protective embrace around her to absorb the shock.
The stranger placed Sela in his arms with almost reverent care. For all Sela’s power, she weighed nothing. One wing dragged the ground, bone protruding from the silk. Zale did his best to shift her, to not press on points he knew would send pain charging down that limb. As the stranger’s arms left her, Sela unconsciously whimpered.
A tic of pride inched along the stranger’s mouth. “She fought like… I’ve never seen any warrior battle better. I did what I could to aid her from outside the walls.”
Confusion tightened Zale’s jaw. Who was this man and why had he helped her? He wasn’t Vangelus, though he was tall enough. Blood splattered his white robe in a macabre wet swirl, clinging to his skin and making the brown darker. Beneath the hooded robe, his head was shaved, his brow thick and his lips full. Gold cuffs surrounded his wrists, not slave bands but ancient vambraces, decorated with elaborate carvings of battle.
The stranger’s eyes lingered on Sela’s face as he stepped back…directly up against the point of Rex’s pugio. His spine went straight, his chin lifting.
“Who are you?” Rex asked.
“Not your enemy, Forsaken.”
“Rex.” Zale shook his head. Rex frowned but let his blade fall to his side. The stran
ger nodded to Zale then Leaped out.
Nomad tore for the medi-room and Zale followed as fast as he dared. On his heels, every Forsaken crowded into the tiled space. He laid Sela out on the pristine medical bed. The gurney’s clean sheet quickly turned to red as Nomad cut away her gown. Her nudity wasn’t alluring, but grotesque; bruised and raw, scored and bleeding.
The wounds on her calf and throat flowed quickly and Nomad cursed. Too fast for stitches. He grabbed a propane torch and a long knife. The men stepped back as blue flame spat from the nozzle. Zale stiffened his mouth and grabbed her leg, holding her while Nomad cauterized the bleeding. Sela never moved. The scent of burnt flesh gagged him but he remained, doing his duty as the wound on her throat was sealed with heat.
“Turn her over so I can get to her back.” Nomad’s voice was urgent.
Zale eased her onto her stomach and Dray moaned. “Oh sweet Jesus, what did they do to her?”
There was no time for words. Spreading her drooping wings, Nomad set to work on the gaping wounds. Only when those were seared shut and he clicked off the torch did he look to Zale. “I need to set the wing. Like a bird’s?”
Zale nodded. It wasn’t exactly the same but would allow the bone to heal straight. His hands trembled on the silk, memory blending with reality as he folded the limb close to her spine for Nomad to wrap. They worked in silence, each man’s breath echoing loud.
“What’s in her hand?”
Rex’s question dropped his eyes. Hanging along the gurney rails, Sela’s bloody hand fisted around a strip of paper. Zale pried it loose and handed it behind him to Myth without looking at it. He concentrated on aiding Nomad and ignoring the blood and stench.
“What is it?”
“I can’t read it, what’s it say?”
“It’s almost cuneiform but different. The Watchers don’t use modern maps. They refer to every place in ancient locations. Give me some time.”
Zale heard the words over his shoulder but his mind was frozen in relief and admiration. The Irin had evidently caught her but she’d escaped somehow and survived. The stranger popped back into his mind and he knew he owed the man a debt. Zale hated owing anyone.
