“Warwick!”
Water seeped into his mouth, the coldness of it trickling down his throat.
So this was it. His last moments. He’d botched his Hail. Let the Angels, shifters, humans and…and his beloved Warwick down.
No. No!
Energy from the crumpled sword sprang to life inside him, infusing him with such a mad will to live that he lashed out with one arm at the entity above him. The hand on his head released some of the pressure as it was knocked sideways, and David took that millisecond to dart away. Christ, but his lungs felt as though they were bleeding, blood churning in them, hot and frightening. He pushed upward, the water bearing down on him, fighting him just as the hand had. Just as the lake had when he’d swum to the back of the boat at six years old to fire up the engine and send his sister deep into the very water he was in now.
“One more push, brother of mine.”
Her childish voice startled him. Rachel? There with him?
He gave that push she’d urged him to take, then a hand grabbed the back of his hoody. For a dreadful moment he thought it was that hand again, but he was lifted instead of shoved south. He broke the surface, gratefully gasping, and saw Warwick was the one who had dragged him back to suck in the sweet oxygen.
This was the reason for Warwick’s Hail. David knew it like he knew death had just been too close for comfort. Warwick was there to ensure David saw his own Hail through to its conclusion. With no time to thank his mate, and fearful—too bloody fearful—that the entity beneath the water would try to drown him again, David swam as hard and as fast as he could to the crag with Warwick right beside him all the way. David hauled himself up onto it, scrabbling to sit at the top while Warwick did the same.
And there they sat, catching their breaths, David cursing Idaline.
He’d kill that bitch if it was the last thing he ever did.
Chapter Ten
It was wrong, just sitting there, waiting. Although it gave Warwick a chance to think for a moment, he also wanted to do. Get this shit done and dusted so they could move on and enjoy life without forever peering over their shoulders. Then again, having this breather might be the best thing for them. A chance to process and steel themselves.
The unexpected image of him and David being in the lake slapped him sharply. God, he’d been so afraid yet at the same time was filled with such anger that he’d been able to act quickly. He reckoned that if he’d waited one more second, David wouldn’t be here now. Or he’d be here, on the crag, but splayed out, dead.
That image brought on a rush of shivers.
“What the fuck was that thing?” Warwick asked. “And what the hell glows red in water, like it’s alight?”
“What?” David whipped his head round to face him, water spraying off his hair and onto Warwick’s cheek. “Red? All I could see was black.”
“Idaline must have shrouded it from you then, because it was definitely red. Oranges and yellows, too. A person but not. A figure made of flames. This big devil-type bloke with bright green eyes, and he was seriously on fire and that is not possible.”
“Obviously it is.” David’s face was pale, one of his cheeks saturated with that strange turquoise moonlight. More drops of water slid down his temples from his hairline and off the drenched stalactites of his fringe. “Rachel used to appear like that when she was doing something for Idaline, except only her hair was on fire. But it wasn’t really on fire, just seemed like it. Her eyes, though, they were bright green. Neon, almost. Maybe that’s how Idaline manifests—because it sure as shit was her; that was her laughing, I’m certain of it.”
“I heard her. Pure evil.” Warwick had been more afraid of that laugh than he cared to admit. It had carved through him, slicing his nerves. He’d heard it so many times in his dreams, his nightmares especially, when Idaline had been cross with him, and he looked forward to the day when only his Angel could visit him while he slept. Idaline had exhausted him over the years, countless other people, too, he’d bet, and it was time for her to go. She’d overstayed her goddamn welcome—not that she’d ever been welcome. “If it wasn’t her, whatever it was soon backed off when you darted away, though.”
“You could see me down there?” David asked. “Honestly, it was just pitch black to me.”
“Yeah, that bloke-thing lit up the lake. That’s why I went back down after I’d surfaced. I knew something bad was going on. Seeing that light under the water…” It had frightened the bloody life out of him, if he were honest. And once Warwick had grabbed David’s hoody, the being had disappeared, and the resulting darkness had given him another thing to be afraid of on top of freaking out that David might have drowned. So he’d tugged him to the top as quickly as possible, praying the fucking beast-thing wasn’t waiting for them when they broke through the skin of water.
“I thought that was the end for me. I…” David clamped his mouth shut.
“Me, too.” He gripped David’s hand and pushed all his feelings into him, wanting to reassure his mate he was here, and he wasn’t going to abandon him when he needed him the most.
“Oh, my God. How the hell is that even possible so quickly? I can see I already mean the world to you,” David whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Hmm.” The lump in Warwick’s throat prevented him from saying anything else right then.
“Thank the Angels of Wereling that the power from the sword made me fight that thing,” David said. “If the love you have for me is anything like you just made me feel inside… I’d have died never knowing the true depth of it. I don’t think anyone’s ever loved me like that.”
A rush of emotions flooded Warwick, and where his hand touched David’s, vibrations fizzled on his skin. Then knowledge swirled into him—of how David had always felt unloved, and how he’d disliked himself as much as his father had seemed to. Until Warwick had come along and made him see he was worth something. That he could be loved, was wanted and needed. And that David had someone to stand by him forever.
“Shit, I’m so sad things were bleak for you,” Warwick said. “You know, before we met. I didn’t realize how much you kept back. Even though I know your thoughts and feelings and I can see your memories, they still must be dampened to some degree because what you just thought is nothing like I read from you before. One day, maybe you’ll open them right up to me. Show me how you really feel, like you just did.”
“I’m so used to keeping things to myself that it comes naturally. I even hide things from myself. You know, shove them away, thinking I’ll deal with them some other time, then I don’t bother.”
“I can understand why you do that. Saves getting hurt.” Warwick paused. “But remember, you don’t ever have to do that with me. And shit, sorry to change the subject, but this waiting is killing me.”
“It’s driving me batty.”
Warwick stared about at the trees surrounding the lake. They were a mass of dark—ominous sentinels standing rigid, as if petrified to even allow their leaves to rustle. As if they understood they ought to remain still if they knew what was good for them. A silence came then, where every nighttime critter, the moon, and the lake seemed to collectively hold their breaths. Warwick held his, sensing a vibration, not from the crag beneath but in the very air itself.
“Something—” David squeezed his hand.
“I know.”
Warwick stood, pulling David upright with him, and together they turned to face the opposite direction, hand in hand. A split in the air directly in front of them was in the shape of a mouth turned on its side, the lips widely parted and ragged, appearing as torn edges of a piece of paper ripped in anger. Inside the mouth was a place Warwick had never wanted to see in his lifetime—but one he’d known, since he’d received his Hail and Manakel had told him what was to come, he’d see all too soon.
A reddish-colored cave wall was at the back, and a throne made of the same stone, yet polished to a high sheen, like marble, sat in front of it. The dais beneath i
t also resembled red marble, as did the floor, and flames pranced in charred sconce bowls that stood dotted around the edge of the room much the same as street lamps. The shadows of those flames licked the walls in a poor parody of the hot, orange- red-and-yellow originals, their dance ugly and murky rather than pretty and mesmerizing. But even the real flames were ugly—they didn’t bring to mind reading by the glow of a candle or dining with a candelabra sitting at the center of a table, but screamed of burning, of torture and hate.
Warwick couldn’t hold back a gasp.
David linked their fingers tighter. “I don’t want to go in there.”
“Who the hell would?” Warwick whispered. “But we have to. And we’ll step inside together, okay?”
David patted his pocket with his free hand then undid the zip. He pulled out the salt cellar, and Warwick could see, by the illumination of the fire blaring out through the rip, plus the poison itself glowing, that the hole in the lid was still closed over. Would it automatically open when they needed to access the poison? God, he bloody well hoped so. If it didn’t…
There was me admonishing David for negative thoughts, and I’m having them myself. Come on, be positive, man.
“After the count of three?” Warwick asked.
David nodded. “It’s so scary, not having a game plan, though.”
“Don’t I know it.” Then, for David’s sake, and maybe his own, he added, “But we’ll win this fight, you’ll see.”
With the intention to enter slowly, Warwick made the count then they both put one foot inside the split, dangling their legs, and he sensed David was afraid to put his boot on solid ground—the same way Warwick was feeling. A gust of hot air hit him, as though the place beyond was breathing heavily, sighs of pure, malicious pleasure that this time had arrived.
Creepy as fuck.
He struggled to breathe, wanting to turn and run, but the image of shifter heaven popped into his head and he allowed himself to completely lower his foot. David followed suit and, gathering all his resolve into one big ball of motivation, Warwick forced his whole body into that wicked realm, tugging David in with him.
As Warwick had suspected it would, the mouth closed behind them. He heard the great smack of those ripped lips, and the echo as it flowed around the cavern was so loud it hurt his head. He resisted covering his ears—mustn’t show any sign of weakness—and scoped the areas to the left and right he hadn’t been able to see while standing on the crag outside.
It was just a cavern—although ‘just’ made it sound like everything was okay about the space. But to the innocent eye it was okay. Apart from those menacing flame shadows and the fear inside him brought on by knowing exactly what this cave was and why they were standing in it, it would seem like some cool underground hideout for hikers who loved all things devilish.
There was no door or exit of any kind—interesting and unsettling—but that didn’t mean anything. If that bloke could appear out of nowhere in the lake, then he could damn well appear in here, too.
He glanced at David, who was gazing around with narrowed eyes, a grimace skewing his lips, rivaling that of a kid licking a lemon. Yeah, being in here left a bad taste in the mouth all right. Warwick went to say something then changed his mind—he sensed he shouldn’t utter a word. So it seemed they had a silent agreement not to speak yet.
Good. Our bond is working. Slowly, but it’s working.
Warwick gave the throne his attention. Did Idaline usually sit upon it or was she the Hell equivalent of an Angel, a higher being than all the other devils but not high enough that she merited a ruler’s chair? Not knowing the ins and outs of how this realm worked was a definite disadvantage, and he reminded himself to be on his guard at all times. Standing there gawping, lost in his own mind, wasn’t the way to go.
But what if shifter hell is governed by more than one entity, like shifter heaven is? What if there are five of the God-equivalent buggers waiting in the wings with the underlings to take us down?
Wings. The souls here would never own a pair, and that was a damn shame. If they’d just be open to seeing what goodness would bring them… But they weren’t. Centuries of trying to coax them to become kinder had failed, and it had come to this—two Superior shifters on an assignment that could change the afterlife forever.
Not could, would.
It was time to test their bond further.
“Can you hear me?” Warwick asked David.
David cocked his head. “Was that really you?”
“Yep, it was me.”
“Thank fuck. I thought it was Idaline pretending to be you.”
“I hadn’t thought about the possibility of her doing that.” Truth be told, Warwick hadn’t thought of many things. Hadn’t had a chance. “We should have a code word. You know, for when we’re not sure.”
“Right. Um…?”
“We don’t have time.”
“Too many words,” David said.
“No, we really don’t have time,” Warwick said. “I think someone’s behind us.”
Warwick had heard a shuffle, and now the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. It felt like someone was breathing on him, and the stench of rotten meat pervaded the air. He turned to look over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of the bloke-shape from the lake, then the figure was gone. Warwick swiveled round, as did David, and they faced nothing but red cave wall.
“Where the fuck did he go?” Warwick asked.
Chapter Eleven
David had no bloody idea. He twisted and turned repeatedly to keep an eye out everywhere. The damn cave looked exactly the same and only he and Warwick occupied it. But what was that just there? Movement? He squinted at the wall behind the throne. There was a shape, wasn’t there? A shape camouflaged against the stone?
“Throne,” David said. “Possible devil-thing. Like it’s invisible but not. Made itself look like the wall?”
Warwick faced that way and stared. “I see it. Get that salt cellar ready.”
David raised the bottle to look at it. The hole in the top had opened, and his stomach churned at what that meant. He’d be using it soon. To kill. The poison spun and glistened as though answering in the affirmative, then the cellar disappeared—but only from sight as he could still feel it in his hand, solid and very much there, thank God.
He relayed what had happened via thought to Warwick, then said loudly, “Shit, the poison’s gone.”
“Oh. Brilliant. What do we do now?” Warwick slapped his forehead and made a growling noise, coming across as though pissed off but also scared shitless.
If David didn’t know better, he’d believe Warwick’s acting was a genuine reaction.
“I don’t know what we should do,” David whispered, trying to sound devastated, hoping his own acting skills were just as convincing. “We’re useless here without it.”
The shape emerged from the wall, still transparent but the definite contour of a hulking great man who enjoyed working out and eating steroids for dinner. He sat on the throne and crossed his beefy legs, pointing the toes of the dangling foot toward the floor, which seemed incongruous and nothing like David thought a devil’s seated pose would be. The beast’s see-through body filled in with flames that swirled and writhed, and David knew then how freaky the thing must have looked to Warwick when they’d been beneath the water. The size of his hands…mammoth, they were, and the recall of one being on his head, pushing him deep into the lake, brought on a wicked shiver.
Damn. Don’t let him see you’re afraid.
The beast—because that’s what it looked like, no quibble there—rested his arms on the throne’s and curled his excessively long, fiery fingers over the ends. His eyes were black pits, but then tiny dots of bright green lit up in the depths, growing until they filled the cavities and beamed out shafts of brightness like car headlamps.
What the actual hell?
David was losing his resolve to remain as calm as he could in the circumstances. His legs went weak, and knot
s bunched in his belly. Adrenaline flooded his system, his blood pumping at an alarming rate, skin going clammy. Were those eye-beams dangerous? Their reach didn’t quite make it to David and Warwick, but would they burn if they came into contact with their skin?
“So, the time has finally come.” The beast’s speech was baritone and shuddered around the cave, filling it up with unbearable sound.
“Who are you?” David blurted, surprised at how steady his voice was. “And what’s your role here?” Sergeant Majorville much?
“You’ve turned into a nosy little thing, David. Since when did you ever speak as though you demanded an answer?”
The beast had a point there, but fear was probably playing a part in David’s brazen behavior. And shit, that damn voice was so thick it seemed tangible, something that lived and breathed around them even after it had come out of that large, wide mouth and couldn’t be heard anymore.
“Since I found out you killed my whole family, Idaline,” he said—a wild stab in the dark if ever there was one, that it was her sitting there and not just the mirage of a big scary devil.
“Well, drat!” Those words sounded ridiculous when spoken so deeply, no inflection to show sarcasm or anger or any other emotion, only a flat, boring monotone.
“Is that all you can say? Drat? Like it means nothing? Like what you did doesn’t matter?” David asked. Anger built inside him, and all his years of harboring guilt splashed around in his head, a brutal wave of You killed your sister and this is how you pay, facing an entity who doesn’t care that she’s gone. He bunched his free hand into a fist and held the cellar tighter, longing to dash some poison at the creature.
“Nothing matters except the end game, David,” the beast said then suddenly its form melted into a flame-glittering puddle on the throne’s seat.
The Crumpled Sword Page 8
