Her Fallen Protector

by Nichole Severn

  “I wasn’t referring to your past.” His lips met hers in soft desperation, warm, delicious, comforting, but he pulled away too quickly. “Use your instinct. Pick the strongest sensation and hold onto it like a rope, then follow it back to the source. Don’t fight it, just let go.”

  Skepticism crested in her mind.

  “I’ll try.” She shook out her hands and legs as though she was about to compete in the Olympic games. Relaxing muscle by muscle, she surrendered to the vibrations. Her entire body rang like a tuning fork, nearly overcoming every sense she owned. No longer feeling his touch, she took a step back. The bombarding sensations increased exponentially, some mere background, others resembling screams.

  She focused on the screams despite the pain radiating down her nerves. The strongest of the vibrations sang violently, nearly buckling her knees. She’d grabbed hold of the line, tracing it back as a lost traveler follows a trail back to safety, losing herself completely in the powerful sensation. Only, safety didn’t lie at the end of this trail.

  A familiar presence pressed her from behind, but she couldn’t relax into him without letting go of the strand. Her body moved of its own accord, forcing her down the center of the cathedral. Boots thumping on the pristine marble floor as she increased her pace, she followed the strongest of the vibrations. As though she played a game of hot and cold, she stepped left, felt the sensation fading, and crossed back to the right, all the while continuing toward the front of the cathedral.

  The Seal was here. She could feel it.

  The truth resonated from every fiber of her being and it called to her, beckoned her. At the furthest point she could go, she stopped, staring up into the radiant stained glass window behind the pulpit as the vibration ebbed. Where depictions of angelic beings or Christ were displayed in Christian art, this window told another story.

  She reached upward, circling her fingertips around the face of the dark-clothed woman with black wings at the bottom of the window. The vibrations within her disappeared upon contact, her mind and body quiet for the first time since she’d been injected with her father’s blood. She relished the peace, but for just a moment.

  She studied the window once more, and without doubt, the dark hair told her who the artist had captured in such a dismal representation. The agonized angel above the woman, armed with a sword, had thrust the blade into the demon’s heart as the trees burned around them.

  The demon was her, the angel Jacob. She’d witnessed the scene countless times, but seeing it frozen here, in a cathedral of all places, made it real.

  “Vdarra! Run!”

  She pivoted, catching sight of Isabel charging down the aisle toward Jacob. He’d placed himself between the onslaught and her to give her a chance.

  Panic overcame logic, but at the back of her mind, she noted another sensation: a building pressure urging her to touch the glass angel’s face. She climbed the table set below the window, thrusting herself upward as fast as she could. With a single touch to the bottom of the circular centerpiece making the angel’s eye, she forced a ring of metal to swing outward.

  The Seal of Solomon.

  Her breath caught in her throat as the sounds of a fight broke out behind her.

  Carefully plucking the ring from the window, she shivered with the growing call of the Seal. Beneath her skin, a pleasurable wave of fire consumed her in a single breath. As if another piece of her soul had been found, she exhaled in relief, relishing the power in her hand. Echoes of the fight disappeared as she rested her forehead against the wall.

  “Vdarra!” Jacob’s voice pierced the fog, wrenched her out of her thoughts. Rough hands grabbed her upper arms and shook her slightly.

  She fisted the ring in her palm. Hers. Not his.

  “Come on. I injured her, but she’s not alone.” As if to strengthen his point, inhuman screams echoed around the interior of the hall.

  She didn’t have a chance to respond.

  He pulled her through a side door, directed her toward a room at the west side of the cathedral. He shoved the door closed behind them, throwing the bolts and wedging a chair under the doorknob. “It won’t hold them off for long, but it’ll give Sorren time to find us.”

  She barely had energy to notice their escape, her mind captured in the Seal’s web of flickering images. The ring’s temperature matched hers, barely making its presence noticeable, aside from the sense of right spreading up her arm and into her heart. “We’re just going to wait for him?”

  “We have no other choice. We’ll need his help to fend them off as you search.” He exhaled in a rush, leaned back against one wall. His chest rose in short gasps, out of breath. She’d always been stronger than him. “Did you find anything?”

  Her fingers closed around the ring as she crossed her arms across her midsection. In the seconds following her discovery, the Seal had told her more than he ever had. It’d fed her information, given her images of her mother on the sacrificial table, replayed the moment when she met Jacob the first time, and so much more. Yet it hadn’t given her the answer she craved. Perhaps if she held onto it a little longer, the Seal would direct her to make the right choice. “No.”

  …

  Vdarra’s breathing hitched for the second time since they’d locked themselves in the office. She’d grown distant as if she were lost in a memory. Paler than he remembered, she slouched in the chair and closed her eyes. Sweat beaded on her forehead, he assumed from the run from the prayer hall to the back of the cathedral.

  “You’re exhausted.” He approached her slowly as she widened, then narrowed her eyes. Trying to focus on him? His heart plummeted. She’d been through so much, but would endure far more for them to win this battle. Her own father would make sure of it. “Come here.”

  Her eyes questioned him for a brief moment as he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled against him, and he held her steady. Her body temperature had risen significantly, almost as it had back in the alley when she’d changed. Moving toward one of the main walls of the office, he turned them around, slumping against it with her in his arms. “Just rest. You’ll need your strength.”

  A whimper left her lips as he held her against him, legs parted on either side of her. He wrapped one arm across her chest, kept her close.

  The screams within the cathedral dissolved to mere bickering between animals, a common occurrence when so many Damned fought for the same goal. Hungry for fresh blood, they’d scour an entire city in search of their assigned target. Now, however, they were being held back and the reason lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.

  The Deceiver had come to claim his daughter.

  His skin tingled at the presence of evil, like thousands of insects desperate for escape from beneath the thin barrier. Hugging her still form closer, he adjusted his position to lay her on the carpet. Her head lolled back onto the floor, her eyes closed as if in sleep. Sorren had yet to appear so only he stood between the Deceiver and his daughter.

  He caught a glimpse of copper in her right hand as it fell from her stomach onto the floor. A ring of metal rolled across the carpet and hit the desk, toppling over. It couldn’t be. Staring at it for a moment, he couldn’t move. He chanced a glance back toward her. She’d lied to him about finding the Seal. But why?

  “Israel,” a slithering voice said, “I know where you are and I know you have my daughter. Bring her to me and I’ll let you live.”

  She’d had the Seal in her possession for at least twenty minutes, which meant her exhaustion wasn’t from running, but from the draining of her life force. Without her complete transformation, she wasn’t strong enough to control the power hidden inside such a small trinket.

  “Israel, you can’t keep her from me.” The Deceiver’s voice seemed closer now, almost as if it came from the other side of the door.

  He collected the Seal from the floor and shoved it deep in his pocket before straightening. This would be their last stand. Rolling his shoulders back, he exhaled in one motion and release
d his wings with the next. His knees buckled from the loss of energy, but Vdarra’s small moan of pain filled him with duty. The permanently singed plumes stretched across the entire office as the door’s bolts slid free without help. The wings would protect him, but not for long, as he was nearly stripped of his power. He placed himself in front of her and caught sight of a heavy candlestick on the desk beside him. The base fit easily in his hand, just as his mace had in a previous life. He couldn’t hold the Deceiver off for long—even now his power reserves were at an all-time low—but he’d die before he let the bastard take Vdarra from him again.

  The chair he’d wedged beneath the doorknob exploded, raining bits of fabric and wood across the entire office. He guarded his face as best he could with his hand and stretched one wing down to prevent shards from reaching her.

  Something massive collided with him.

  He flew across the room, over the desk, and smashed into the concrete wall. His breath left his lungs in a rush. The weight on his ribcage increased as two lower-level demons snapped for the first bite. He barely had time to register their presence before the Deceiver, in all his twisted glory, stepped into the office.

  The Dark Lord’s slick smile turned his stomach to stone. He reached inside his suit jacket pocket. “All your hard work for nothing, Israel.”

  Jacob threw his head back, twisted one demon’s neck and kicked the other in the face. He lunged toward the Deceiver with everything he had left.

  They fell in a heap on the floor.

  The syringe in the Dark Master’s hand smashed against the wall, broken glass and silver liquid spewing onto his clothing and on top of Vdarra. A swift backhand to the jaw planted Jacob flat on his back, and he stared up into the Deceiver’s black gaze, momentarily out of focus from the impact. He sat up, barely able to move as he reached for the Deceiver once more.

  A high-pitched scream threatened to burst his eardrums. Isabel. Searing pain ripped through his right shoulder. Conscious enough to recognize the arrow tearing through muscle and flesh, he stood, stumbled into the wall as the Deceiver knelt over his daughter. The arrow’s tip had effectively gone through his shoulder and his right wing, pinning it to his back.

  Isabel traipsed into the office, a victorious smile spread across her face. Lowering the bow, she reached back into her quiver and withdrew another arrow. “All you Archangels are the same, never remembering me.”

  He sagged against the wall, every ounce of his power and energy spent. Blood seeped into his T-shirt and ran down his arm. Vdarra’s half-lidded gaze focused on him, the chocolate depths screaming for help. He took a deep breath, stepped forward. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a bitch.”

  A second arrow speared his left thigh and he collapsed onto one knee. He clenched his teeth to stop the scream from escaping, but could barely contain the anguish. The world swam. Too much blood loss. Either Isabel would finish him off now or she’d let him bleed out. He prayed for the latter. Keep her distracted.

  “That’s not very nice.” Isabel aimed the next arrow at his chest.

  “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you, Israel?” The Deceiver placed a hand on top of the bow as he stood, stopped her from releasing the arrow. “All of this—your protecting her, your ideas of love—none of it mattered. Because I will do anything to keep her and in the end, I will always win.”

  He pressed his heels into the floor, used any remaining strength to stand. “And haven’t you,” he panted, “learned yours? She doesn’t…want to follow in…your footsteps.”

  The Deceiver’s smile disappeared as he sank to his haunches. A second syringe hovered above Vdarra’s chest. The bastard had a backup plan. “After this, it won’t matter.”

  “No!”

  The needle plunged into her heart, the silver contents rushing into her body.

  Wrapping his arms around the Devil himself, he tackled the fallen angel to the floor, landed on top of him. The arrows burned as their combined weight pushed the wood through his wounds, and a scream ripped up his throat, hurt his own ears.

  “Look at her, Israel.” The Deceiver pressed one side of his face to the floor, pinned him. “She shall pass through suffering as a Phoenix burns before it is reborn, just as the dark overcomes the light during an eclipse. Her mortal life is pathetic. Now, she’ll become the daughter I have always deserved.”

  Her back arched off the floor, her arms and legs stiff like boards. Her mouth dropped open, yet she remained silent. Despair ripped through him at the sight. She stilled before he could take another breath, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  “Vdarra,” he said.

  “That was never her name, seraph.” The Deceiver slammed Jacob’s head into the floor. An explosion of pain overwhelmed his senses, enough for him to scarcely register his enemy reaching into his pocket and extracting the Seal. A triumphant grin stretched the Deceiver’s lips thin. “She’s my daughter and you won’t take her from me again.”

  The pain did little compared to the failure echoing in his soul. Hot tears ran down his face. His attacker released him and he dropped to the floor completely, robbed of his strength. His gaze rose in desperation. “She won’t live through the transition. Please, don’t do this.”

  The Deceiver collected his daughter from the floor, accepted her weight gracefully. Not even a wrinkle in his suit. “She won’t have any recollection of you when this is over, seraph, and when she takes her place at my right hand, you’ll be as any other angel: a target.”

  The words barely registered over the dull roaring in his ears. Isabel clamped onto his arm and wrenched him to his feet, and he understood what he had to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The injection site burned beyond anything she’d ever imagined. She writhed in agony—maybe on top of the pulpit she’d passed before—as fire shot down every inch of her body, burning pieces of herself and her sanity.

  “The pain will pass soon.” Above her, a form hovered, sympathy written on his handsome features as he stroked her brow. “You don’t realize it now, daughter, but I do care for you and I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since that bastard took you from me.”

  Jacob.

  She gasped for breath, the oxygen in her lungs evaporating, lost in waves of torture. She moaned her plea for help. The musty scent of the cathedral clogged her throat. At this pace, she’d lose the capability to breathe in seconds, and panic took over. She twisted on the hard surface as she clawed at her father’s suit. Death would take her soon. It had to. Gripping the lapels of his jacket, she tried to sit up, but he held her down.

  “Shh.” His voice grew breathy. “You can endure. You were born for this. Accept the fire. Remember who you are. Become the leader you were meant to be.”

  Pinching her eyes shut, she tried to focus on what was happening. Bewildered by the searing heat, she couldn’t make sense of the sensations killing her from within. She rejected the pain, but was pulled deeper into the agony the more she struggled against it. Her chest grew hot, ready to explode, then hotter. As though her heart had caught fire, she screamed. She wanted to rip it out, clawed her own skin. “Kill me!”

  Time stopped.

  Her senses disappeared. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours as her body fought for life.

  She’d die at the hands of her father’s psychotic dream.

  The pain intensified—not the burning journey of the blood through her veins, but of her breaking heart. Jacob would die. Even worse, if her memories were resurrected, she might be the one to kill him, unable to control herself.

  Where she hadn’t allowed herself to cry from the physical pain, tears stung her eyes with the image of his death. He’d saved her life, protected her, cared for her, loved her despite her fight to prove their love wrong. She’d lied to him about discovering the Seal to find the answer she needed. Now, without it, she knew the truth: she loved him. Not as Duemos. But as herself. Vdarra.

  Through the depths of her anguish, the clang of meta
l crashed to the cathedral’s marble floor, jolting her back to reality. Wisps of inner flame consumed her, but she searched for him. She arched off the pulpit, twisting to get a better view as her lungs struggled to inhale.

  Her father had turned his back to her, but Isabel’s crumpled form against one of the columns possessed her attention. Heavy footsteps pounded in her sensitive ears and suddenly Jacob appeared. A fresh wave of tears clouded her vision as she took in his condition. An arrow through his shoulder, another sticking out of his leg. Blood ran down his face and the sight defeated the demon blood’s hold on her, fueled her to move. She’d lost him once.

  Not again.

  She found the strength to sit up and slid down the steps of the pulpit. But with the movement, her plan of attack vanished as if a switch had been flipped. She studied the scene curiously, unable to remember how she’d gotten there.

  The Archangel Israel advanced on her father’s personal bodyguard as she rose from the prayer hall floor. Her master stood in front of her.

  “Father?” Her voice sounded strained, as if she’d been screaming. A tingling sensation focused her attention to her fingers. She flexed them inward one joint at a time. Strong. Capable. Ready to serve. “What’s happened?”

  “Duemos.” Approaching her slowly, hands held outward, her father smiled. “Daughter.”

  The pulpit’s steps bit into the backs of her thighs. She dropped to her feet, tested her legs for balance. They held her up, but something had…changed. She took a cautious step forward. Running her hands down her midsection, she looked up at him. “How did I get here? What are these clothes?”

  “Everything will be explained in time.” Her father hugged her close, but kept hold of her arms as he pulled away. His touch sent ripples of ice down her arms, something she’d never experienced before, except with an angel present. Bending to level his gaze with hers, he wiped wetness from her cheeks.