by Inez Kelley
Zale gave one brisk nod. “Rex, you’re with me.”
“Sweet, let’s go kill something.”
The two Leaped without another word.
The cramped opening expanded into a long tunnel with beams of solid granite. Samael didn’t want to risk nature caving in on his soul-bank account. The stonework was man-made and trapped them inside the cave. The smell was sharp, putrid and so thick they all gagged. Nomad shone a flashlight overhead, judging the soaring distance. A swarm of squeaking wings dive-bombed them before funneling toward the now enlarged entrance.
“Vampire bats,” muttered Myth. “Dray, control your groupies, will you?”
Dray spat in his direction. They all called weapons and braced for battle as they walked further into the Mouth of Hell.
Sweat trickled down Vike’s spine and he wriggled his fingers, getting a better grip on his ax. The ring he hadn’t removed dug into his skin and his lip curled. History called him evil, a killer, a heartless bastard who murdered for gain. He’d long ago accepted that, but now he embraced the reputation. He had every intention of bathing in Leech blood and dust if that’s what it took to rescue Lacy’s soul.
They crossed under seven granite arches before coming to a darkened hole in the wall. Vike’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. Nomad took point, flicking the flashlight over the small room before using a lighter to light a wall torch. Fire glow danced over walls lined in shelves, all holding cut crystal boxes full of dust reverently spaced and placed in perfect formation.
Other torches quickly blazed to light and they stood in stunned amazement. Vike did some fast math. Three walls, five shelves per wall, eight boxes per shelf. One hundred and twenty sleeping Scion souls. But which box was Lacy’s?
“Vike.” Myth motioned with his head toward the upper shelf on the right wall.
One box stood out. No dust covered the lid and it wasn’t the clear glass of the others. This one was deep red, a color fitting for the last Chief Samael needed. Lacy. His throat clenched as salt stung his eyes.
“We can’t leave the rest here,” Nomad insisted.
No one had anticipated so large a collection of Scion souls. And this was only one holding place. The shock of how close Samael was to his goal sent a silent ripple of dread through the cavern. Digging into their pockets, they pooled soul-bags. Seventy-nine. Far short of what they needed and couldn’t count on being able to return with more.
Once he knew the site had been discovered, Samael would hide his treasure once more. How could they decide which souls to save and which to leave in torment?
“First, get Lacy.” Grim lines surrounded Nomad’s mouth. “Work from left to right and start bagging. Get every box you can.”
Vike lifted Lacy’s box from the top shelf. This was his fault. “I’ll keep you safe, Lace. I swear on my very soul. I won’t fail you again.”
“I said stay back!”
Michael glared. “Woman, I grow tired of your hysterics.”
“Then get out of here.” Annie stood her ground.
Michael took a step and she closed her eyes, swinging the blade as hard as she could. He jumped back. “Do not force me to harm you.”
“No, Michael!” Zale rushed into the room. Another man came with him, one with short blond hair and a snarl like a feral animal. Both men wielded swords and fitted their feet into wide fighting stances.
Michael’s handsome face creased in contempt. “I don’t have time for your arrogance, Azazael. She needs me.”
“I need you like a dog needs rabies,” Sela mumbled.
Annie dropped the knife and helped Sela roll over. She punched the handheld controller and raised the head of the bed. Snagging a thin hospital gown from the bottom cabinet, she held it up so Sela could slide her arms in, covering her exposed breasts, then tugged the sheet over her legs. Zale and the other man never took their eyes from the glowering angel before them.
Michael only had eyes for Sela. “How did you escape?”
Pain radiated from the bed as Sela’s eyes sluggishly opened. “It’s enough that I did. What happened to your eye?”
Red tinged both his cheeks. “When Gabriel heard what — We shared words in anger.”
“He does have an awesome right hook.” A hoarse chuckle shook Sela’s shoulders then they squared and her eyes went cold. “You’re not the mother-hen type, Mikey. What are you really doing here?”
Spearing an angry look at Zale, he shifted on two feet like a beggar asking for bread. “May I speak with you alone? Without your watchdogs? If you wish, the woman may stay.”
“I have a name,” Annie barked. “It’s Annie, not woman.”
His spine straightened before giving her a slight bow. “My deepest apologies, Annie.”
“Sela’s hurt, badly. She needs her rest.” Her voice shrilled, but she was far too annoyed to be worried about sounding like a harpy. “Aren’t angels supposed to be kind and compassionate? Leave her alone.”
Michael’s shoulders pulled back. “Some Vangelus are Heaven’s warriors. Compassion is part of our nature but we aren’t all wings and halos. Sometimes we’re swords and blood, might and vengeance, power and battle —”
“Bullshit and bongos, we got it. Make your point,” snapped the blond man.
Zale positioned himself between Annie and Michael. Smoke clung to him, not wood smoke, but a brimstone and sulfur stench that stung her eyes. Dirt and dust mingled with sweat to stain the back of his shirt, molding it to hard muscles shielding her from the angel.
Annie fought against snickering as Michael’s body vibrated with exasperation. Any minute she expected him to stomp his foot like a spoiled child who’d been told ‘no.’
“I’ve lost two Righteous in the past weeks.” The admission forced his face toward the wall. “My warriors are the bravest and most valiant ever born, but they’re strangers to today’s world. One night of instruction wasn’t enough. They need more. Like you, I swore to provide what they need. I want you to train them.”
Sela’s eyelids popped open. Scrutiny tapered them to slits. “I’ll need time to prepare, but I use my ways, my methods. You butt out.”
He jerked as if slapped then forced a blatantly false sneer on his face. “Of course. Someone must guard Paradise and that was my assigned task. You were sent to the lesser realm.”
“Your selective memory is truly astounding. Get out. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for your choir boys.”
Her sudden hard cough drew everyone’s eyes. Annie jerked the stethoscope from her pocket, plugged her ears and listened to the wet rattle. Blood clogged the beat. Sela had internal injuries as well as external. Having seen the evidence of self-healing through rest, she was now more anxious than ever to get rid of Michael.
Dr. Maddox had told her there was nothing to do but monitor Sela. She would heal herself. Annie’s mouth tightened. It went against the paramedic in her to watch someone in distress. An oxygen tank sat near the bed with a plastic-wrapped disposable mask attached. It wasn’t medication, which she understood was pointless, but it would make breathing easier. She snagged the plastic bag, ripped it open, and held the mask to Sela’s face, using her left hand to turn the valve to a low stream.
“Just relax, breathe slow and deep.”
There was no answer but a deeper breath lifted Sela’s gown. Lines of distress eased from her face. Annie shifted Sela’s head, fitting the elastic band around her damp hair and adjusting the mask tighter to her nose. Pressing her stethoscope once more to Sela’s chest, she listened, aware all three men were watching with anxious expressions. The weight of their stares dug into her spine.
Her eyes locked on the pulse-ox monitor. The digital red numbers were climbing. Assuming angels and humans had similar heart rates, Sela was in no immediate distress. For caution’s sake, she used her foot to pull a portable suction machine closer to the bed. Zale lowered his weapon long enough to help her. Annie sent him a small smile of reassurance. His shoulders relaxed in minute degrees.
Michael lowered the duffel to the floor. “I brought her this as a peace offering. I must return it in a few days but she should have time to get what information she needs.”
With a sharp nod, Zale grabbed the satchel, tossing it behind him. Michael cast one last look at the hospital bed. “Let me give her the Breath of Life and ease her pain.”
“Zale, you let that bastard touch me and I’ll castrate you every day for a year.”
Annie assumed Sela’s threat was exaggerated until Zale’s cheeks went pale and he lifted his sword higher.
Michael’s fists knotted. “You are such a bitch. Try not to screw my men.”
In a flurry of red silk and vanilla wings, he spun on his sandaled heel and headed for the patio. His feet touched the grass and he was gone in a blink.
“My, people come and go so quickly here,” Annie said in her best Dorothy Gale voice.
The blond man snickered, and lowered his sword. “Damn, girl. You went up against Heaven’s Champion with only a knife? That’s some kind of kick ass there.”
“Annie has the heart of a warrior,” Sela murmured. “Zale, what did he bring?”
Supple leather whispered as Zale unlaced the duffel and drew out two large scrolls, nearly three feet in height and thicker than Annie’s thighs. He peeked at one corner of each and blew out an amazed breath. “It’s the Eyts Vangelus, the complete scrolls.”
A hardened look shifted the oxygen mask on her face. “Curious. He’s never so much as offered a word in our behalf. So what is he up to now?”
Zale shook his head. “I don’t know but I don’t like it.”
“And now we’ve his men to train.” Sela smoothed the sheet along her thigh. “Rex, that will be your task.”
“Say what?” The blond man blinked.
Sela waved her limp hand. “Later. Were you successful?”
“We found where Lacy is being held.” Annie’s heart surged at her sister’s name but Zale picked up his sword and strode toward the door. “We need to get back to the others.”
Fear that he was hiding something from her exploded. It clenched her belly. Lacy…
“This is too easy.” Myth paused while tying the last of his soul-bags closed.
Dray tossed a pebble at him. “Gift horse, man, don’t examine it too hard.”
“Yeah, that worked great for Troy. I’m serious. Something isn’t right. In Jerusalem, there were Soul-Leeches holed up to guard the boxes. So where are they here?”
“Maybe they went out for tacos,” Dray said.
“For once, step out of character and don’t be an asshole,” Nomad gripped.
Vike shoved the last soul-bag he could carry in his pocket. Unfortunately, he agreed with Myth. Something felt off. Even Omen felt it. The canine paced, his nose dropping to the stone floor then swinging high in the air, scenting something.
Vike had never read of a scientist explaining it, but he’d lived it enough to believe it. The air changed before a battle, grew thicker, heavier. Maybe it was just the invisible cloud of tension and anticipation but this time, something sinister wafted. He couldn’t smell it with his nose but it coated his tongue in a sour paste.
“Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed Lacy’s ruby-red crystal soul-box.
Dray wrapped a length of barbed chain around his fist and hefted his kilij, a deadly curved Turkish sword that had gorged on the blood of his enemies. “And the choir shouted ‘Amen!’”
“Amen? Who are you? Billy fucking Graham?” Nomad sneered. He gripped his long scythe in both hands and faced the last wall of still sleeping boxes. “I hate leaving the rest behind but we’re going to need our hands.”
Vike’s fingers clamped around Lacy’s box. He wasn’t letting go of this one. He kept his axe in his other hand. Extinguishing the torches, the four slid out of the chamber, backs pressed flat to damp walls and eyes alert. They saw nothing but bat shit and rocks. Myth led the way, flashlight illuminating the uneven ground. The only sound was a far off water drip and Omen’s claws scraping the stone.
Daylight glowed in a bright line around the replaced entrance stone. The drums of war thrummed through Vike’s bones. This was it. If he were planning an ambush, this is where he’d stage it. There was only one way in or out and they couldn’t Leap, trapped by the man-made arches overhead. The waist-high hole was going to lead them straight into a trap but they had no choice.
Sweat plastered his hair to his nape and chilled down his spine. His Mark began to itch with the presence of evil. Dray swung his chain, fitting it better to his hand and twirled his sword. “Shit just got real. Time to party.”
Myth nodded once and ducked through the opening, pushing it wide with one massive hand. His thick legs braced just outside the hole and his majestic voice carried the timbre of royalty he’d been born into.
“Well, hello, Galina. Fancy meeting you here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Galina. Vike’s vision pinpointed, blood bathing his sights in the hot wash of Berserker fury. Crouching, he bolted through the hole with a battle cry. His axe swung before he’d fully exited the cave.
The air around him erupted like the hissing volcano beneath his feet. Shouts, curses, screams and the clang of metal pounded in the melody of war. Omen attacked, knocking a huge Asian man to his back. Inside the massive cavity, there were perhaps twenty-five Leeches under Galina’s command but shadows stretching from the crater rim boasted her back-up reserves. Vike couldn’t give two shits. He lusted for blood, her blood, soaking into the ground until she mewled for mercy.
Getting to the bitch was another story. She stood behind the fight line holding a polished spear, delight carved into her face as her Leeches engaged the Forsaken. When one fell, two swooped from the rim to take his place.
Nomad’s scythe whipped with the kiss of a cold, black wind until Leeches lay like cut wheat in a field. He pivoted on one foot and kicked, sending another snake-tongued man falling into Omen’s tearing fangs. Dray was drunk on battle-lust. His chain whipped and cracked as his sword twirled and slashed. Myth was a pillar of immovable strength. No matter how many charged, they fell victim to his khopeshes, red spurting high into the smoke-laced air before turning to dust piled at his feet.
One-handed, Vike chose to forgo elegance. His axe chomped through the swarm like a hungry wolf, eating a path closer to the bitch who’d killed Lacy. The reverberation of steel on bone fed his rage and he pushed forward. He ignored the sting and pinch of daggers and swords as they cut into his flesh. Nothing mattered but his goal. He was going to see fear in those coal-black eyes if it was the very last thing he did on this Earth.
Shadows on the crater edge morphed with the skinny black shade cast by the tall Nindiri Cross as Rex and Zale Leaped into the battle. Pandemonium increased, the smoke churned to thickness by the Leech-dust mingling with the slight wind. Vike refused to blink, refused to let Galina out of his sights.
“Leap, Viking!” Zale’s shout echoed over the clash but Vike refused to hear it.
Dray’s barbed chain crashed into a Leech, tearing flesh away from bone. “Get Lacy’s soul out of here.”
Nomad pressed against Vike, back to back, the force of his scythe’s arc rocking their shoulder blades. “Go. You owe her peace.”
That colossal debt stole the might from Vike’s half-finished swing. His vengeance wasn’t worth risking Lacy’s eternal soul. He’d let her die First Death but would not let her become one of Samael’s Chiefs. He’d rather scatter her Soul-dust into the wind and send her to kareth.
The thought of her gentle heart warped to such malevolent immorality wiped the blood lust from him. He loved her too much for that. He couldn’t risk failing her again. Bitter acceptance locked his gaze on Galina’s and promised later retribution. He closed his eyes to Leap and fire lanced through his leg.
A cry tore from his throat as the thighbone shattered and he fell. He couldn’t lift his leg. Galina’s spear pinned his thigh to the rocky ground. The blacker
than tar-dipped evil in her soul cemented her focus on the scarlet red box in his hand.
His teammates counterattacked, shifting their backs as they worked closer to him. They’d never make it to him before Galina did. He had no free hands to rip the spear from his body. With his flesh bound to immovable Earth, he couldn’t Leap. Choosing to protect Lacy’s soul over himself was automatic and he called his axe to his arm. “To me.”
Galina’s shadow fell over his body. Her chuckle was too soft to carry over the noise but it tripped over his skin with malicious hunger. Gripping the ruby box tighter, he snarled. “You can’t have her.”
“Oh, but I can.”
She lunged for the box, but he angled up, feeling muscle and sinew tear in his leg and not caring. Her black hair was tied back in a tight braid and he fisted it like a rope, wrapping it around his hand until he pulled her down onto his chest.
His arms clamped around her in a punishing squeeze. Heaving up, he flexed and twisted until his thigh gushed blood but the metal tip worked free from the stone below. He rolled, locking his knees around her kicking feet. Hot breath blasted his face as he grabbed her jaw, trying to crush the delicate bones underneath.
“You want this fucking box so bad, you can have it.”
He brought the dark red glass down hard, shattering it beside her head. A pale cloud of dust shot up in a delicate plume before feathering into the wind. That wind blew smoke, sweat and a film of dust over them.
Her eyes bulged in disbelief. “No!”
Blood made the broken glass slick in his hand but he gripped it firm and drove the largest shard into her throat. Red sprayed, splattering his face and filling his mouth.
“Choke on that, cunt. Samael will love that you let the last Scionim’s soul blow away.”
The absolute horror in her ebony irises pressed into his heart with satisfaction as he Leaped.
Vike Leaped into the Quad, forming on the opposite side of the boulder from the medi-room. He wasn’t ready to face Annie yet. He collapsed on the grass, agony pulsing from his leg, the harsh pre-winter ground delightfully cold beneath his aching wounds. The broken spear shaft was slick but he yanked it, pulling the wood and steel from his body.
