Despite her intention to stay neutral, Irena couldn’t hide the edge of contempt in her tone. “Value?”
“Yeah.” He crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and reached for her knee. Irena kicked out at him and pressed hard against the pole. “Me’s a taker, yes I am.”
“And what if I don’t agree with your taking?”
“Then you die.”
Irena thought as much. She’d been around enough tyrants to recognize their special brand of insanity. If she was going to die, she sure as hell wanted to know why and Turay seemed more than willing to offer up answers. “What do you get out of this? Besides your own corner of the Congo?”
“Me?” He shrugged and peered out the tent flap. “I get me some respect. Too long I been serving others, toiling away until me fingers bled. Lost me family, me home, everything. All serving somebody else’s ideas.” He shook his head. “Now I serve me own ideas now.”
“You’re just carrying on the tradition.”
“What tradition?”
“Violence. Death. Senseless pain. All for a stupid idea that won’t matter in twenty years.”
Two guards entered and whispered something to Turay. She eyed them as he nodded then stood and exited the tent.
One of the men stepped forward and gripped her arm, forcing her to stand. The second guard leaned outside and ordered something in Lingala. Cold steel touched her wrists, cutting through the ropes while Irena fidgeted. Her abraded skin itched and her ankles tingled as her circulation returned.
Her hope remained with Chago. He and his friends looked competent enough to handle anything these motley insurgents might throw their way. According to Innocent, Chago had taken out a whole squad of them all by himself. She almost pitied Turay. Almost.
The second guard pulled out a phone and spoke in hushed tones she couldn’t decipher. Minutes later, he clicked the phone shut and murmured to his cohort. The other man stepped forward and jerked her toward the exit. “You come with us.”
As if she had a choice.
They dragged her from the tent.
Her steps faltered as she surveyed the crowd assembled on the field ahead. Insurgents and painted Bantu tribesmen intermingled. The sticky night air held an exotic, pungent odor of incense and black smoke curled up from several fires scattered about the grassland. Far off in the distance, other fires burned. Shadows cut across the dim light, suggesting more people lurked in the night.
The guards led her up a winding trail to the top of the nearby bluff. There, they forced her to kneel at the center of flat rock at the summit’s center. Her wrists and ankles were bound again before they departed.
Birds circled overhead as the chanting below grew louder. Movement rustled behind her. A predator? Her heart stuttered then kicked into overdrive. Irena’s frantic search spotted nothing beneath the full moon’s glow, but the prickle of awareness remained. If this was her time to die, she was ready. Her thoughts turned to Chago, the man she loved, and peace settled over her.
Without warning, a trio of nearby torches burst to life.
Brown Italian loafers stepped into her line of vision and her gaze traveled up an expensive tailored suit to meet her killer’s eyes. Familiar eyes, yet not the same.
The face was Drake’s, but the being inside was different. Harder. Yellow sparks burst from the chocolate brown irises and dread filled her stomach. Turay was right. Drake wasn’t himself tonight.
“Hello, Irena.”
The voice was deeper, with an undertone of agony never present in Drake’s clipped tone. Whoever inhabited this body, it definitely wasn’t Drake Benedict. “Who are you?”
Surprise flickered across the molten gaze before being replaced with cool assessment. “I am the end of all things.”
The end of all things?
Before she could question his response, something struck hard at the base of her skull. As Irena collapsed into the rocky soil, her mind held on a wisp of memory — the attack at Innocent’s, the beast that nearly killed Chago, with its mottled hide and the same piercing eyes. The monster and Drake were one.
Irena struggled to remain conscious, but her body refused to cooperate.
A hard kick to the stomach sent her into oblivion.
• • •
Chago kept a careful leash on his anger while Xander maneuvered the Range Rover toward the bluff, saving his fury for the bastard responsible for Irena’s kidnapping. Archon.
They turned off-road and veered across the open grassland. In the distance, fires glowed beneath the moonlight and highlighted the rough base of the small bluff. Soon, Xander cut the headlights and they bumped along through the African night as quietly as possible. The closer they got, the louder the chants and the tribal drums.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The collective roar made Chago’s stomach churn.
Despite the large number of assembled, no one noticed their arrival. Xander parked on the far side of the bluff and the three Scion warriors skirted the edge of the rocks for a better view.
Across the plain, Chago sighted Innocent’s militia fires. He’d taught them as much as he could in their short time together. Now their training would be put to the test as they enacted the plan he and Innocent concocted to sack the insurgents.
At Xander’s signal, he and Luther scaled the far rock face, away from the crowd’s prying eyes. Three-quarters of the way up, he dropped to his hands and knees on a flat path and shimmied to the crest of the summit to assess their position.
Large torches flared around a flat rock at the center like a twisted luau. The pungent odor of sulfur carried on the slight breeze, lending a familiar smack of Hades to the proceedings. White blonde hair spilled over the side of the central stone and his chest constricted, severing his oxygen supply. His Irena.
Drake Benedict towered over her prone form. As if on cue, he glanced in Chago’s direction. Yellow flared behind the flat brown eyes. Archon. He should have known the bastard would transform and Drake made the perfect victim. Karma was a bitch.
Luther slid into the space beside him. “What’s happening?”
“Archon has Irena. And we’re in luck. At the moment he’s human.”
Chago grabbed one of the two syringe packets in his pocket and tore it open before affixing a needle to the top. Time to administer some death. The vial he’d swiped should allow for two doses, in case the first one wasn’t sufficient. Archon wouldn’t give him a third opportunity.
He tipped the glass container up and drew out half the contents before recapping the needle. Another quick glance showed Archon still stood guard over Irena. Watching. Waiting. Chago seized the opportunity. “Let’s do this.”
Luther nodded and darted behind a large boulder several yards away.
With the vemon secured firmly between his teeth, Chago used both hands to scale a small outcropping nearby. Surprise was the essence of any solid attack and he planned to dive bomb his enemy. Soundless, he crawled to the edge and peered over this side.
Archon remained silent, gazing out over the Bantu ceremony below, any sign of his demonic beast well hidden. On the slab near his feet, Irena stirred. Her pained moan filtered through Chago’s focus and burrowed straight to his heart, drowning out the sounds of reality. Fuck waiting. Time to end this battle now.
He pushed up into a crouch and prepared to jump, gauging his angle for the best strike. His plans came to a screeching halt when a gun cocked beside his ear.
“Hands behind your back.”
He managed to tuck the syringe safely inside his shirt pocket before he turned.
A guard towered above him. They bound his wrists then led him down to the summit and forced him to kneel beside Irena’s still form. She stirred and her bound hand clasped the leg of his jeans. Vengeance swelled his heart. He would not fail. Not again. Not this time.
Chago met Archon’s searing gaze head-on. “Tonight we end this.”
• • •
Archon gazed down at Chago and a strange
calm suffused his system. At last, he would ascend to his rightful place and oust his horror of a father. He would have satisfaction. This man’s actions were of little consequence now.
“Leave us.” He dismissed the guards and stepped closer. “We meet once more, Scion.”
Wind blustered and the torches flared, their elongated shadows dancing a macabre waltz. On the plains below, the Bantu ritual culminated into frenzied chaos — the same energy that had brought him here would summon his father and terminate this charade.
A quick check of the stars showed the alignment was near. The Seal would provide the extra burst of power and the divine catalyst he required. He slipped the golden dagger from his pocket and crouched beside Irena, his quiet words meant for Chago alone. “Once again you have chosen your duty over your mate. And once more you will lose.”
Despite the Scion’s fervent struggles, he stripped Irena of her shirt and bared the mark near the base of her spine. He poised the knife over the Seal’s mark, its blade etched by Divinity herself with tiny symbols and runes — a spell for unleashing Armageddon.
The Bantu chants reached an ear-splitting crescendo and the planets above aligned. His time had come. Archon recited the ancient Enochian words, a key in the language of the angels. “Yolcam Emetgis.” Bring forth the Seal.
The blade sliced across the Seal’s mark atop the girl’s sacrum. She bucked against her restraints as the wound opened and scarlet blood spilled forth. Lightning flashed and power surged. His father would arrive soon.
“Yolcam Emetgis.” Archon yelled to the crowd below, driving the frenzy higher. “Yolcam Emetgis.”
Soon, the crowd repeated the foreign words in a never-ending loop of destruction.
Irena writhed on the slab, her skin flushed and breathing labored. Archon knelt beside her, stroking her hair reverently as he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Soon this will all be over and you’ll be at peace.”
The Scion snarled and ripped free of the heavy ropes securing his limbs. He charged forward with something clutched in his hand. Archon watched his approach with mild interest. Nothing this man could do to him would be worse than what he’d already suffered.
Chago struck him with the force of a freight train.
Archon tumbled across the dry grass covering the summit with the Scion in close pursuit. They skidded to a stop near the edge, precariously close to a sheer drop. Chago grabbed him by the lapels of his Armani jacket and slammed his head against the hard surface before fumbling in the grass for something. A syringe.
They struggled for control of the needle and the plunger came free with a wet ‘pop’. Whatever liquid had been inside flowed out onto Archon’s tailor-made chest.
Chago eyed the damp stain then cursed and slammed a fist into Archon’s temple.
Stars flashed before his eyes and a small smile formed. The time had come to eliminate his façade. His inner beast raged, intent on freedom.
As Drake’s body melted away, Archon’s true nature surfaced. A thunderous boom echoed across the plains, ringing in his evolution and his victory. The overpowering stench of rotten eggs clogged the air. Lucifer had arrived and Archon would have his victory.
Chapter 21
Chago stared at the stain on the front of Archon’s suit.
Gone. One precious dose of the venom wasted and only one remained. He thrust his opponent’s limp body away and pulled out the second syringe. There was no room for another accident.
Irena moaned atop the slab and he glanced in her direction, relieved to see Luther undoing her restraints and covering her with his shirt.
Beside him, Archon convulsed violently as Drake’s skin disintegrated like wet tissue paper. The suit ripped in two and low gurgles escaped as rows of razor-sharp fangs descended into Archon’s mouth in a circular pattern. With no time to spare, Chago lifted the half-empty vial and drew the remaining contents into the final syringe. If he didn’t act fast, the fragile needle would never penetrate Archon’s thick hide.
He scrambled back to his opponent’s side, the syringe gripped in his fist. He didn’t care where the needle struck as long as it injected somewhere inside the infernal bastard. He raised his hand to strike — too late.
A clawed fist wrapped tight around his throat and squeezed. Dots formed in his vision and a sickening crack sounded as his vertebra crumbled. Air whooshed past his face as Archon threw him across the summit. He landed in a heap near the opposite side and watched as the beast closed in, acidic saliva dripping from his lips. Somewhere in the distance he heard shouting, screams. A voice. A warning. Irena’s horrified sobs carried on the now blustering wind, a reminder of his objective. Must save Irena. Must not fail.
He needed a new delivery system for the poison. The answer came swift as a cheetah.
Without allowing time for doubt to steal his thunder, Chago plunged the needle deep into his own jugular. The venom burned like battery acid as it infiltrated the nearby tissue. He tossed the empty syringe over the side of the cliff and cast one final look at Irena.
Archon grabbed his arm, his poisonous claws digging deep into his flesh. If the beast wanted a snack, Chago planned to give him one he’d never forget. An odd sense of completion overtook him as Archon’s sharp fangs pierced his nape. At last, it was over. He was done.
• • •
Irena bucked against Luther’s iron grip.
She refused to stand by while the man she loved died. Frustrated and desperate, she fought for freedom with all her remaining strength. Warm blood trickled down her lower back, but she ignored it and focused on Chago. He must survive.
After being knocked unconscious, she’d gone into some kind of trance. Pain had flared brighter than the sun, blinding her to everything but its glorious agony. A crazy whirlwind of images had spun through her consciousness — a world without solace, a frightening wasteland of desolation, war in all its awesome, abhorrent power.
Yet something had stopped the specter from becoming reality, had drawn the abomination back inside her and rendered it dormant. She’d been dimly aware of a storm, of lightning and distant thunder and the persistent smell of sulfur.
Irena had concentrated, forcing herself into stillness, into peace, and reality had returned. With the tranquility came understanding. The man she loved had been honest with her all along.
Now her muscles ached like she’d been struck by a brakeless semi and her head still thumped with the remnants her vision-induced migraine. She longed for a hot bath and a long nap, but only if Chago was alive and well to join her in the festivities.
Archon roared into the night sky, his patchwork-ugly face slick with perspiration and saliva as his jagged spray of fangs sunk deep into the nape of Chago’s neck.
Irena screamed, but Archon didn’t budge, seemingly lost now in the feeding.
Adrenaline coursed through her system and she searched for a weapon. Luther’s hold loosened just enough to allow her to slip his Beretta from its holster and jam an elbow hard into his ribs. She darted out of his grasp and charged, gun cocked and ready. “Let him, go, you cockeyed piece of shit!”
Archon disengaged from Chago’s neck with a resounding smack, but he didn’t release his meal. He turned slightly in her direction and roared. Irena stared, too repulsed to scream. The stench of decay swept past her on the errant breeze. “You’ve made your decision.”
Without hesitation, she fired once, twice. Archon staggered and dropped Chago’s body to the ground. Irena stepped closer and fired again. Three, four. Each shot ricocheted off his thick, purple hide. He snarled and took a step toward her. His sharp claw barely missed her forearm as she fired another volley. Six, seven. The last shot struck deep inside Archon’s gaping mouth. Jackpot.
He rushed at Luther, rage in his glowing eyes. Then he halted, twitched. Stepped again, and twitched again. Held his claws up and stared. Dropped to one knee.
Luther pulled Irena back.
His squeals erupted like a pen full of disturbed pigs.<
br />
Archon tumbled to the ground, one hand clutching his scaly throat while the other clawed the stone beneath him. Pained gasps followed as he struggled for breath and his muscles locked. He gave a final wheeze then nothing. The nightmare concluded in silence.
Irena wrenched free of Luther’s grip and ran to Chago. The wound on his nape was already healing over, the fresh skin pink as a newborn’s. She stroked the hair from his eyes, worried by his grayish pallor.
Luther crouched beside her and checked Chago’s pulse. “His heart still beats erratically. I’m not sure how long the effects will be in his system. We’ve never dealt with black mamba venom before.”
Irena nodded and held Chago’s hand tight. She didn’t care about the effects. Didn’t care about anything except the fact he was alive. And she’d stay with him forever, if he’d have her.
“The one who is victorious will not be hurt at all by the second death.”
Revelation 2:11
Chapter 22
Chago returned to the world of the living in stages. His first awareness was of Irena stroking his hair and dusting his face with kisses. His second was the voice of his commander. He cracked open an eye and saw Xander examining Archon’s motionless carcass.
“You’re awake!” Irena smothered his face in kisses. He gave her a wan smile and struggled to stay awake. A gag-inducing wave of flatulence escaped Archon’s now bloated form and Irena snorted.
“Christos!” Xander scrunched his nose and stepped away from the ick. “And I thought the minions were bad.” He glanced in Chago’s direction with watery eyes. “Welcome back.”
“Did it work?” The words croaked from his arid throat. Judging by the carnage before him and the throb at the back of his neck, it had. Still, Archon’s body lay unclaimed. He would have expected the archangel squad to clean this up pronto, as they had after the first Seal’s opening. Divinity should be eager to learn Archon’s secrets.
“Yes, it worked.” Xander crouched beside him and smiled. “And your training with Innocent’s men did the trick too. They surrounded the insurgents and took them down before Turay even fired a shot. Good work, brother.”
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