Angel Unleashed

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Police cars were arriving on the block, coming fast, their shrill sirens and flashing lights polluting the night and instilling in Rhys a sense of impending chaos. Trouble lay ahead. Had the vampires regrouped near the building’s front door?

  Having had his fill of trouble, the only way he could see to avoid it was going up to the rooftops he had lately become so familiar with. From there, he could wait for the trouble to disappear. Avery would find him there. She would know where to look, and she would be in need of an escape route now that she had transformed. With those wings, she’d be a standout in any kind of company. No more hiding. No more need for tattoo parlors.

  “We have become a little circle of freaks,” he said to the frail bundle in his arms that clung to his neck.

  As he began to climb, Rhys sincerely hoped monsters had nothing to do with whatever those cops were chasing, and that London’s mortal population would never know the truth about the predators among them that had a foothold right beneath their feet.

  But as he climbed, he heard a familiar voice say, “Never let it be said that a Shade can’t help to turn the tide.”

  It was the Shade from the rooftop. Contrary to everything he’d believed, that Shade, along with its kind, might have caused the commotion on the street so he could get safely away.

  Could that be true?

  Damn it. The night, Rhys wanted to shout, had become one spectacular contradiction.

  * * *

  The squeal of sirens made Avery’s muscles seize. Burdened as she was, she reached the rooftop before Rhys did and watched him climb to meet her.

  “Not vamps this time,” she said by way of greeting when he faced her, wanting to say so much more without daring to, trying not to be jealous of the way he held the bundle in his arms.

  “No,” he agreed. “Not vamps. Not this time.”

  The heat that radiated from him drew her closer. What a picture she presented, half dressed and with her wings folded up.

  “You’ve lost your coat,” he noted lightly, when the situation called for seriousness. They weren’t in the clear. They were hovering on the brink of chaos at the moment, with the city loud and crime laden beneath the rooftop.

  “I like the new look,” he added softly. “It’s spicy.”

  Afraid to address the grin that played on his lips in spite of everything they had been through, Avery turned her head. Rhys was used to fighting. He had only moments ago found out his Maker was a fiend, yet his outlook remained optimistic.

  He was a delicious sight, with his shiny hair in tangles and his arms full of black-market Fae booty that those demons had salivated over.

  From their rooftop perch, and underscoring the sirens, she heard the low, guttural growl of the black wolf that couldn’t have followed Rhys’s upward climb. That wolf was the only member missing from this little group of tonight’s survivors, and against its wolfish nature, seemed to want to join in.

  “Do they work?” Rhys asked her.

  Avery shook her head, understanding the question. “Not yet. The wings need more time.”

  “Can you help to fight our way out of London, if it comes to that?”

  “I can, yes. Do you have a way to help the creature you’re holding?”

  “All of us have to get out of the city. We can do that, now that you’ve found your wings and there’s nothing to hold you here.”

  “And go where?” Avery asked, alerted to where Rhys was heading with this.

  “Back to where it all began. I believe there might be some scores to settle.”

  “There’s nothing left of that place,” she said, giving him another piece of the puzzle he wouldn’t yet be able to make into a cohesive whole.

  Rhys was eyeing her intently. She knew he’d be going over hints of the truth that had emerged tonight in that dark cavern. As she watched, enlightenment began to reshape his handsome features, all of which once again resembled the Rhys she had first seen on the street.

  “Nothing’s left of Broceliande?” he finally asked. “You had something to do with its demise?”

  “That castle could not stand. Not after...”

  “That’s where you must start the story,” he said when she didn’t finish her statement. “That’s what I need to understand. You do get that? I have to know what happened there and how it involves you. I can’t rest until I know.”

  “I once told you that you would be sorry about the truth.”

  “I believe I deserve to be sorry if that’s what it takes to fill in the missing details of my past and yours. Won’t you trust me with those details now that we know each other better?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer before he spoke again.

  “We go. The Fae and the wolf go with us. There, they can be set free. Outside of the city, their folk can find them or they can find their way home. You are complete. That’s what you said. You needed to be complete. Now I need the same thing.”

  Avery understood that kind of need. Rhys could make that journey with or without her, but he wouldn’t find the truth he sought if she didn’t let him see it. Besides, she’d be damned if she’d let him out of her sight.

  Atonement was demanded of her for her part in what had taken place in the castle. The glint in Rhys’s eyes demanded she fill him in. He was right. He deserved that. Other than Mordred, she was the only creature on Earth that could satisfy that need.

  The wan creature in Rhys’s arms stirred. A pair of huge eyes turned to Avery. The thin mouth opened and words came out. “You will be rewarded for taking me there,” a soft-toned female voice announced. “This, I promise.”

  It was a lyrical voice with the consistency of trickling water. Easy on the ears. Joyous to the heart. Avery had heard voices like this before. More specifically, she had heard this one.

  “You know the place of which we speak, Fae?” she asked.

  “The white castle with a black heart.”

  “And how do you know that place?”

  A breathy, hesitant reply came. “Were we not there together in that dark place, angel, pinned like bugs to a board?”

  Rhys moved. He was trying to follow what was going on and not liking any of it.

  “Yes,” Avery said to the Fae creature. “That is where the dark masters took something precious from me.”

  “And from me,” the Fae creature returned.

  The next word tainted Avery’s mouth with a sour taste before she spit it out. She would have given a lot to have avoided speaking it.

  “Blood,” she said. And the scars on her back ached with the remembrance of what that word meant.

  The beautiful creature nodded her head once, and then, energy spent, nestled against Rhys’s chest. Rhys’s heart was beating as hard and as fast as Avery’s was, still connected to hers as he looked back and forth from her to the dainty creature in his arms.

  “So we go,” Avery agreed. “It’s time.”

  She strode to the rim of the roof purposefully and looked back. “I suppose we will have to fight our way out of here if those sirens mean anything. Shades and vampires probably made a mess of things on their way out of the cave, and people are scrambling to get out of the way.”

  “Not the Shades,” he said. “And modern times call for desperate measures.”

  Avery knew he was remembering that his Maker had wanted her blood in that dark cavern. With the mention of blood now, he’d be looking for a connection.

  Like her, however, he must have sensed that the danger on the streets was only faintly tinged with the supernatural. Crimes the mortals committed were not a Blood Knight’s province, and therefore could be skirted without guilt. He would have been all over an aggressive vamp attack, so he was waiting, motionless. Perhaps he was sharing her next thought...about Mordred being out there somewhere, free to go wher
e he pleased. And that Mordred wanted their souls.

  In the face of more danger yet to come, somehow, and though it didn’t seem possible, Avery loved Rhys even more for his show of patience as he walked toward her cradling the fair Fae creature in his arms.

  His eyes were on her. Only her. And her heart sang with hope.

  * * *

  The black wolf was waiting for them when they reached the street. Sleek, strong and heavily muscled in spite of its recent captivity, that wolf joined their hunting party without getting too close.

  “I know what you are,” Rhys said to the wolf that wasn’t merely an animal. Nor was it just a werewolf. It was an incredibly rare Lycan, black-pelted and regal. Able to shape-shift without a full moon and probably needing to retain its animal appearance due to the wolf’s power to heal any wound Rhys hadn’t yet seen.

  There was no telling what this wolf looked like in its more human form, or if it could have survived Mordred’s prison any other way than this. The feral growls that continuously rolled from its throat could easily be in reaction to the pain it had suffered at the hands of whoever had put it inside that cage.

  Anger flared inside Rhys. His entire existence had been based on so many deceptions. Avery had been hurt behind those castle walls, and so, it seemed, had the Fae creature he carried that was still too weak to set down. Why hadn’t the Fae been able to escape, if Avery had? The idea that such a delicate soul had been trapped for centuries behind iron bars made his stomach turn over.

  Police sirens had stopped screaming by the time his boots touched asphalt. This meant the cops had made contact with their targets, and the Shades, if what he had heard was true, had instigated that distraction.

  He and the others couldn’t afford to be seen if they didn’t need to jump in and fight. Avery was shirtless and had a pair of folded wings stuck to her back. A nonhuman being was tucked into his arms. The black wolf, larger than any those cops would have seen in their lifetimes, the Weres among them included, was tagging along. They could have made headlines or been the embodiment of a comic-book series.

  Avery had drawn her knife. Half of a knife. Its blade had been broken, but it still gleamed menacingly under the streetlight.

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to use that,” he said.

  Her eyes were alight with blue sparks. “The blade will heal itself in time, just like we do.”

  Rhys frowned, refusing to take the time to ask how that could happen. If Avery said it would heal, it would likely be so.

  “More Shades,” she hissed, stepping forward with a full display of the warrior she was, hands raised, face set.

  “I’m fairly sure they aren’t the problem, at least this time,” he muttered, searching the shadows where Shades were gliding along the facade of the buildings en route to another location, ignoring the threat at their backs.

  Avery’s gaze met his. They turned in unison and, with the black wolf at their heels, took off to look for a safe way out of the city.

  Chapter 25

  “What the...” DI Crane said when he returned to the penthouse.

  “We need a lift,” Rhys explained. “Obviously we can’t be seen.”

  “Obviously,” Crane agreed, taking in the strange gathering. His gaze stopped on the wolf by the windows. “Aren’t you a little lost, my friend?”

  “Long story,” Rhys said, understanding that Weres were territorial and never breached the borders of another pack without consequences. “Suffice it to say that none of these folks would be here if they didn’t have to be. None of this was their choice.”

  The black wolf was quiet now as it eyed Crane.

  “You can’t shift back?” Crane asked, tuning in to the wolf with the internal radar all Weres possessed. “I see,” he said moments later. “I’m sorry.”

  To Rhys he added, “How can I help?”

  “Safe transport out of London. Tonight.”

  Crane’s glance slid to the Fae female on the couch. He took in a big breath and let it out slowly before transferring his glaze to Avery, who had covered herself up by wrapping strips of cloth around her torso from pieces of Crane’s shirts. He shook his head first, then said, “Hell, Rhys. Give me an hour and I’ll take you out of here, myself.”

  Rhys saw Avery relax. She didn’t speak.

  “I’m thinking we’ll need a van. A large one,” Crane said thoughtfully. “Where are we going?”

  “France.”

  “In that case, we’ll need a plane. Can I know why we’re going to France?”

  The room was quiet, everyone’s attention on the detective.

  “All right,” Crane said, breaking the silence. “I’ll need two hours and a short flight plan.” He headed to the door mumbling ridiculous phrases punctuated with curses about supernatural creatures eventually being the death of him, even though he was one of them.

  “That went better than I thought it would,” Rhys said.

  Avery remained silent.

  The black wolf growled menacingly.

  But Rhys had to appreciate how many things had worked in their favor tonight, and how many things in this world weren’t much like they had always seemed.

  * * *

  They were let out of the van Crane had commandeered several miles from the small French airport cops often used for going back and forth from England to France when other forms of transportation weren’t possible. After assurances that they would be okay, Crane had left them on their own.

  It was very late, or very early. Rhys could no longer tell how much darkness was left until the arrival of a new day. The presence of the others accompanying him messed with his inner clock.

  In order to keep out of sight, they had to hurry, and moved silently through the dark. Castle Broceliande had been set deep in the secluded forest of the Bras de Fer on French shores. Back when he’d first seen it, there had been no reason for the castle to have been guarded. The creatures that had strolled its lavish gardens would have been reason enough for others to have avoided such a place. It was often accepted, back then, that royalty often kept to themselves.

  He wondered what he’d find now, and how he really felt about going back there. Broceliande was a black spot on his memory. He had trepidations about it even now.

  As they walked, he remembered other things he had put from his mind about those times. The images were vivid enough to touch.

  Like his brothers, he had accepted the invitation to the castle on the assurances of its reputation for bestowing favor upon knights in service to the crown. The invitation to attend those who dwelled at the castle had been written on costly parchment, delivered into his hand by a handsome young squire.

  He had been intrigued.

  He had found the white stone edifice beautiful. It was surrounded by perfumed gardens. Tiered fountains sang watery songs of welcome. Rhys recalled thinking how strange it was that he seemed to be the only guest, and that no other people milled about, enjoying the rare beauty of the place. Odder yet was how no one waited in the great hall to greet him.

  As he walked, Rhys winced at his own naïveté. He wasn’t sure why the memories were so painful. After all, he had agreed to the pact that had been offered to him there, even if not completely willingly, at first. In truth, he had believed in the necessity of the offer the castle’s occupants had finally made him.

  The strange countenances of those who dwelled at Castle Broceliande were, he had thought, part of some sort of charade. All courts loved games. They had come for him at dusk. Three beautiful people, perfect to the last detail. Jewels glittered at their wrists and throats, highlighting pale, perfect flesh. Three people who, it seemed, slept the daylight hours away, only to rise at sundown...a fact that hadn’t seemed to matter since his questioning intelligence had not seen through their disguises.

 
Physically, he had fit right in, with his tall, sinewy physique sculpted to hard muscle on the fighting fields. But Castle Broceliande’s occupants, who may indeed have been royal by birth and were as handsome as fallen stars, had been no longer human, he had found out tonight in that cavern. And it had been no game they played.

  Rhys tilted his head back to look up at the moon. Even so far from that distant place in his memory, the chill persisted each time the image of the castle’s inhabitants came to him.

  How had he not known what they were? Not guessed?

  Those white faces. The scarlet lips he now knew had covered unnaturally sharp teeth. The thick red liquid swirling in their golden goblets...

  In that windowless castle, he had been handed a challenge, a quest, and he had paid for its acceptance with his life. In return for their favor, he was given the opportunity to behold the holiest of all relics. Whoever viewed this relic, legend foretold, would be blessed. Whoever drank from the chalice would be resurrected, as the Grail’s original bearer had been. Born again.

  He had sipped red liquid from that chalice, as had his hosts. The difference was that he had been made immortal, but with his soul intact. And those he had called his Makers had become creatures that later would come to be known as vampires.

  When Rhys looked up, he and Avery were alone. The Fae creature, so recently in his arms, had disappeared. The black wolf was gone.

  “We’re close,” Avery said. “Not everyone is as strong as you or I, or as happy to be here.”

  “Hell, Avery, I’m not too happy about it.”

  She nodded. “Yet you asked for the truth, and this is where you’ll find it.”

  The scenery was green, forested and dense. There were no roads leading to this place, nor well-used pathways cutting swaths through the foliage. Rhys studied the forest by the light of a moon tilted low in the sky. Morning wasn’t far off.

  “You must hate this,” he said to Avery. “Returning here.”

  “I have made some peace with it. More peace will follow.”

  “When?”

  “When you see the truth and love me still.”