“Azel, my love, when will you stop this madness and come home?” His voice was filled with flawless devotion. A hint of a smirk curved his lips.
Armen quirked a brow at him. “You’re a bastard, you know that? While you’re spouting false professions of love, Sariel, why don’t you explain exactly how I was pulled away from your side and changed to flesh?”
“I would know no such thing, my sweet,” he replied, his fangs appearing between his separating lips.
Armen growled and balled her left hand into a fist. “I hate you!” She raised the cane’s blade and threw it at him. It sailed end over end toward Sariel, who only laughed as it approached. At the last second, he jerked his head to the right and the blade whistled past his ear.
“Hate is all I have ever expected of you, my sweet Azel,” he replied. “As we are the Fallen and do not have the ability to truly love any longer.”
Armen pounded her fist against her chest. “I have the ability to love,” she shouted. “HE made me that way.”
“Yes, so He did,” Sariel replied. “It is what makes you so special, my sweet.”
She frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”
He covered his mouth with his hand, as though he’d given away a secret. That incessant laughter of his annoyed her to no end. “Your compassion has never faltered, Azel.”
“What are you up to?” She placed her left hand on her hip. “Terry, get the damn scepter already.”
Terry was already halfway there. He grunted and snatched the scepter from the floor, thumbing the button, forcing the blades out, and after checking his dad, he took a few steps toward Sariel. His upper lip curled and he glared at the demon in human form while clutching the scepter tightly in his right hand.
Terry’s face held sheer anger and determination to kill the angel of death.
“Stay away from her,” Terry growled, and walked toward the demon.
Armen had never before heard Terry sound so . . . pissed. If she hadn’t thrown part of her cane at Sariel, she’d have been able to move toward him. She leaned on the sheath but it bit into her palm. Sariel twirled toward her like a tornado. She stumbled away from him and would have fallen to the floor if not for Sariel’s arms encircling her from behind.
“And what shall you do if I do not stay away from her, Wrangler?” Sariel pressed his face against Armen’s cheek. His tongue slithered out and he licked her.
Armen jerked her head. “Stop that!” She fought to free herself, but he held her too tightly.
“Come now, Azel, the wrangler wishes to play knight,” he said. “Let us give him the opportunity.”
“I told you I’m not a damn wrangler.” Terry studied Sariel’s moves and how he held onto Armen.
“Oh?” Sariel laughed. “What was that display outside your home, then?”
“He’s just a homicide detective,” Armen said.
“Shush, love, the gentlemen are speaking,” Sariel replied to her.
Armen growled and struggled again to get out of his grasp. Sariel easily held her in place.
“What display?”
“Your power with words.” Sariel pressed his head against Armen’s. She leaned away from him as far as she could, which wasn’t much given the tight quarters.
Terry held the scepter firmly in his grasp. “Not sure what you’re talking about there.”
“The effect your words had on me in front of your home, as well as upstairs.” Sariel gripped Armen tighter than she thought possible and she gasped for a breath. She knew better than to let Sariel know it hurt. He would only make it hurt more.
Terry scowled at the demon as though he could see her pain. “Let her go.”
“Come, come, say that word once more.”
“No,” Terry replied.
“Is it because I hold her, and she would dissipate as well?”
Terry shook his head.
“Then say it. You claim to not be a wrangler, yet you stand before me, willing to fight me, and hold a wrangler’s weapon in your hand. What is it, pray tell, that stops you from the command of words?”
Terry let out a chuckle. “You’re stalling.” He paced to the side, twirling the scepter in his hand and keeping the demon within sight. “Tell me something, demon. What is it that you fear?”
Sariel jerked against Armen. “Fear?”
“Yes, what do you fear?” Terry repeated.
The demon laughed. “I fear nothing, good knight. That question would be better suited for a human.”
Terry paced in the opposite direction, still twirling the scepter. “Ah, yes it would, under normal circumstances. But our situation isn’t normal, is it?”
Sariel’s lips moved closer to Armen’s ear. “A bright one you have found, Azel.” His breath floated across her flesh.
“Don’t be so hasty to judge.” She wasn’t about to tell him that Terry was one of the more intelligent men she’d encountered during her time on Earth. She made a futile effort to free herself, needing to get to her pocket, but Sariel had her arms pinned at her sides, and he stood as still as a statue and was just about as heavy as one.
“Judgment is not my calling, Azel. Or have you forgotten such things with your feeble human mind?”
Terry continued to pace. He slowly made his way in a circle, forcing Sariel to move with Armen. “I think you fear something all men fear.”
“And what would that be?”
Terry stopped and looked at him, his grin spreading. “Death.”
The demon laughed loudly, making Armen wince. “Death? Have you forgotten what I am, knight? There is no death for me!”
“What about non-existence? Does that play into your pathetic little rules?”
His boldness shocked Armen. Was he crazy?
“Non-existence, hmm,” he said softly. “I do not believe it possible.”
Armen knew better. After all, angels and demons could die. No one knew what happened after that, though, much like how some humans felt about their afterlife.
Terry moved again, twirling the scepter a few times. “So, you’re saying that if I were to force this blade into your chest—”
“Nothing would happen.” Sariel flicked a glance at Sean. “Your father has already attempted so.”
“Ah, yes, but I am not my father.” Terry stepped forward.
Sariel snaked an arm around her neck, the other hand sliding down to grip her left arm. Her right hand was now free. And Sariel smelled like fear.
“And I am no wrangler, demon.” Terry took another step forward and to the right.
“So you claim. What exactly would you be, then?”
Terry shrugged. “Don’t know, really, other than human. What would you be exactly?”
“I AM THE LORD’S ANGEL OF DEATH!” The red glow surrounding him intensified. He thrust out his arm in a display of power.
“Not my Lord’s.”
Sariel hissed at him. A ball of fire engulfed his hand. “Your Lord is nothing compared to mine!”
His grip loosened. Armen whirled around and threw crumbled calendula into his face. She broke free of him and fell to the stone floor. Sariel shrieked, as the herb burned his face. Armen crawled away from him and Terry lunged forward with the scepter. He plunged the blade into Sariel’s chest, and the demon screamed, his human guise bubbling and melting away. The red scales beneath it burned. Sariel roared in agony as Terry thrust the blade deeper and trapped him against the wall.
“Angels are pawns, demon. Knights outrank you.”
Armen dragged herself across the floor to Sean, who stirred into consciousness, and made a mental note to ask Terry just how in the world he knew a knight outranked an angel. Because they did, with exception of the archangels.
“Sean, are you okay?” She stopped him when he attempted to sit up. “Don’t. Just sit still for a bit.”
“I’m fine, Armen.” He pushed himself upright and leaned against the wall next to her. “My head sure hurts like the dickens, though.”
“I can se
e where Terry gets his stubbornness. I hope he can hold on. That’s not going to be pretty.”
Sariel’s human flesh was now gone, leaving only the demon’s red scales, but even those were disintegrating now.
Terry wrenched the blade to the side. Sariel’s scream became lost in a gurgle as his throat opened. “I believe you wanted me to say a certain word, Sariel, but I don’t want to do so because I’d rather you leave existence altogether.” The fire disappeared from Sariel’s eyes. “Something you didn’t think was possible, remember?”
“I suggest you step back noo, son,” Sean shouted after Armen nudged him.
Terry pushed the scepter down, the other blade pointing to his feet. “Welcome to non-existence, demon.” He shoved the blade up, forcing it through Sariel’s head from inside his chest, then yanked it out and jumped back several steps.
Sariel’s head whipped back and forth rapidly as his body shrank. If he had been able to scream, it would have been loud, ear-piercing. Armen thanked her Father that she didn’t have to suffer his cries. She paused a moment, realizing that she had prayed earlier for Terry’s mom, and for Terry’s safety—the first time she’d prayed in millennia. She redirected her attention to what was left of the demon before the revelation could become too forthright in her mind. Fiery embers moved like a brush fire over his body as he writhed in agony, destroying his flesh and bone, and soon he was nothing but a pile of ash.
“Amen,” Sean said with a breath of relief.
“Yeah,” Armen whispered and looked up as Terry walked over to them.
He crouched in front of them and placed the scepter on the floor. “Are you two okay?”
“We’ll live,” Armen said, and Sean agreed with a nod. “And you?”
“Good as can be. Dad, you need to close this place off.” Terry craned his head around to look for something. He headed across the room.
Sean pushed himself up. “Aye, will do.” He started toward the altar hidden behind the glow of a torch. Terry leaned over to pick up part of Armen’s cane. Sean stopped when Terry grabbed his arm. “Well done, son. I’m very proud of you.”
“We have to talk,” Terry said, his voice monotone.
“We will.” Sean continued on his way.
Terry picked up the other part of Armen’s cane, slid the two pieces together, and walked over to her. He held out his hand and when she took it, pulled her to her feet.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” she whispered. “You don’t know what happened.”
“We’re not going to have that discussion right now.”
She lowered her head. “We’ll have to at some point.”
He lifted her chin with his fingers and leaned forward, resting his cheek against hers. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment there. When he had you in his arms, I didn’t know if I could save you again.”
She cupped his cheek. “I’m fine, Terry. It’s not like the last time.”
He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, nuzzling his face into her neck. “Tell me it’s over.”
“I can tell you that I hope it’s over.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “I thought you had an answer for everything.”
“I said ‘usually’.”
Sean’s chanting floated to her ears—some ancient rite of closure. The murmurs bounced off the stone in an echo, surrounding them in ancient Latin. Before long, she heard the sounds of straw brushing the floor. She turned to look. Sean was sweeping up Sariel’s ashes. When she looked back at Terry, she could see the question in his eyes.
“He needs to do that. It will help cleanse the home.”
Terry closed his eyes briefly before focusing on her again. He moved his lips closer to her ear. “What was his name?”
“Whose?”
“Your son’s.” He looked her in the eye once more.
She paused, staring into his deep green eyes, and her breath hitched before she could speak the name that hadn’t passed her lips in an eternity. “Ezerah,” she finally answered, blinking back tears.
Terry nodded and held her tightly. “I’m sorry you lost your son. He’ll be in my prayers.”
Armen swallowed the lump in her throat as grief, an emotion she hadn’t felt in millennia, engulfed her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to him, but her voice failed her. Terry held onto her, and her eyes swam with tears. She fought hard to push it back, but it became a losing battle.
“It’s okay, Armen,” Terry whispered, his own grief rising from the depths with the tremor in his voice. He held Armen close as she wept for her son who had died so many years ago. A soft cry left her lips and soon, she became limp in his arms. “It’s okay.” He held her up. The side of his neck and part of his sweater were wet with her tears, and his own tears marked a trail down his cheeks.
“Come on, you two,” Sean said and gently placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “We need to get upstairs noo.”
Terry nodded and pulled his head away from Armen’s shoulder and neck. Armen wiped her cheeks as Terry set her on her feet. He held her steady until she had the cane ready, and then moved to her good side and took her hand. They climbed the stairs together, behind his father, and walked to the front door of the house, where Brian, Greg and several others were waiting outside.
Armen had never felt more wrecked in all her lives.
Always a prerequisite for a funeral, clouds loomed overhead. If it were summertime, the sun would be shining and Armen would be dying of heat stroke in the black get-up she wore. Sometimes, the sun burned more during the winter months, but the Arizona weather was fickle. One day it’d be in the 60s, and the next it would soar near the 80s. She tugged on her collar to let some air in at the mere thought of the heat, though it was only 68 degrees. Warmth, however, was a blissful reminder of Sariel’s absence, though a sorrowful one for the reason she stood in a cemetery. The demon had bound her to him when he pulled her from the Darkness so long ago. As a result, she would feel cold when in his presence unless he touched her. It was a great internal warning that he was near. Now she would never feel his presence again. She was about ninety-nine percent certain she’d not miss a moment of his pathetic existence, but that lingering one percent missed the warmth of his touch, which she knew was batshit insane.
Terry stood next to her in his black suit with his head hung low, eyes red and puffy. He stared at the hole in the ground where the coffin hung suspended. They had already attended the service. If she never had to attend another of those, it’d be too soon. All the praying to someone she hadn’t spoken to in years was a keen reminder of why she’d fallen, and they now stood graveside to bury Terry’s mother, Lucille.
Armen thought about her own son, Ezerah, and how she’d never had the chance to bury him. Well, burying wasn’t really an option then—it would have been a funeral pyre. Sean stood on the other side of Terry, sobbing for his lost love. So much time had passed since Armen had taken the son of man who had helped create Ezerah. She tried to recall if she loved him—really, truly loved him—but she was powerless to bring the memory forward. She struggled to recall even his name.
She supposed that answered her question.
Another prayer, and Terry closed his eyes and murmured with the crowd. He held tightly onto Armen’s hand and squeezed every so often. It pained her to see him like this because she now understood losing someone dear to the heart. The feeling had been buried so long. While she’d never met Lucille, she stood at Terry’s side for support, and it helped her deal with her own loss. Terry had brought the memory and grief out of her in those final moments in the altar room under his parents’ house. He still hadn’t spoken to his father about the whole episode, and she wondered if he ever would, or if he would just suppress the anger she could feel emanating from him. Terry’s situation was not all that dissimilar from her own situation with her Father.
“Amen,” he said softly and squeezed her hand once more.
Armen returned the squeeze.
“Take the rose, Armen,” he whispered and held up the one in his hand.
“Oh, sorry,” she said and took the flower. The man moved on after blessing her. She wrinkled her nose. The right corner of Terry’s mouth turned up just enough for her to see he caught her reaction to the blessing. It wasn’t that she didn’t accept the blessing. She knew the childishness of her actions, but couldn’t let go of the past. Not yet.
Sean stood in front of the grave, murmuring under his breath, before tossing the rose inside. Then Terry walked to the edge, whispered just loud enough for Armen to hear him, and he dropped the rose in the grave. Armen was next.
She walked to the edge of the grave and closed her eyes, holding the rose to her breast. With this rose of purity, Lucille, I show you the Light you have yet to find. In her mind, a beautiful woman stood before her, hand stretching toward the rose. Armen held the rose over the grave. Lucille’s fingers wrapped around the stem, but Armen didn’t let go. Tell my son I love him. Lucille nodded once, looked at Terry, and then returned her gaze to Armen. She dropped the rose onto the coffin and opened her tear-filled eyes, then shuffled off to stand beside Terry and his father.
Terry’s hand went to her shoulder and he leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
Armen looked up at him, and he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Your mother is a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes, she was.”
“And she loves you.”
A smile graced his lips as tears welled in his eyes again, and he pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His suit muffled her voice as it enveloped her face, but she held onto him firmly, not wanting to let go. As people filed alongside Lucille’s grave and tossed roses in, they made their way to Terry and Sean, forcing Armen to remove herself from Terry’s arms and stand at his side again.
A rather large man with striking similarities to both of the men at her side made his way over to them. He embraced Sean, whispered a few things in his ear. Sean nodded and wiped his eyes. Then he turned to Terry.
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
