Angel Unleashed

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “Wolves,” Rhys said.

  Mason turned toward the echo. “A warning that company has arrived.”

  Avery strode to the edge of the road. “Which will we find first? Mordred or the dawn of a new day?”

  “Mordred,” Mason said with a glance at Rhys, but Mason wasn’t responding to Avery’s question. He was simply repeating the name Avery had spoken and frowning over the implications of what that name meant.

  Whatever was coming their way was going to have to be postponed, however, because the sky, seen through the branches, had lightened several shades.

  Reading his concern, Mason said, “A fang bearer won’t be able to handle the sun. Still, what’s left of that old place in the north since it burned has plenty of holes for him to hide in.”

  “Burned?” Avery said.

  “A bad mistake on the part of its former night-loving occupants helped me to clean the nest of bloodsuckers out,” Mason briefly explained.

  Rhys understood that another of the three Makers had been ruling that nest at the time. Bastard is what Mason had called that one...which meant that besides Mordred, there was still one Maker left of the three. The female. What were the odds that female had killed herself, according to the original plan, when neither of her companions had adhered to their vows to the Seven?

  “So we go there after daybreak and find him,” Avery said.

  “I’m afraid that won’t suit me, angel,” Mason said. “I would prefer to look my enemy in the face. I’d like answers and to know where the last Maker is.”

  Mason again looked to Avery with a question. “Did Mordred do that to you?”

  He was noting her scars and how many edged the strips of cloth she had wound around herself.

  She turned to Rhys. “You didn’t let the others know about me?”

  “I’ve kept your secrets,” Rhys replied. “You were adamant about that.”

  Their eyes met, held. What he saw flickering there made Rhys take a step toward her. They had come a long way in such a few short days, and tonight had been particularly eventful. Avery’s shoulders were hunched, as if her wings weighed her down, and fine lines of weariness still surrounded her eyes. He wished he could ease her burden.

  His head came up when another sound split the silence of the night. “Wolves again. Closer this time.”

  “Come.” Mason backed to the center of the road. “I have a place for you to stay where she will be safe.”

  Rhys didn’t bother to argue with that. Mason had formed his own opinion of Avery and what she could handle. The black-haired Guardian knew what her scars meant. The sheer number of them would have told him exactly what kind of fighter she was. Mason was merely being polite.

  Rhys decided, as he observed Mason, that his blood brother couldn’t have received Fae blood along with his dose of Otherness. There was an intrinsic fierceness to Mason that was more like...wolf.

  Like a rare black wolf.

  Rhys craned his neck to see beyond the trees bordering the road, scenting the distant wolves and wondering again if those animals recognized something similar to themselves in Mason LanVal’s DNA.

  All the speculation was forgotten, however, when the sudden awareness of a vampire presence washed over him like the icy tide of an oncoming plague.

  * * *

  The look of surprise on Rhys’s face quickly faded when Avery’s eyes again met his. If they had expected normal behavior from a nest of vampires controlled by a powerful ancient immortal Prime, they wouldn’t have been ready for what was fast approaching along with the early light of dawn. But everyone here understood what a Prime named Mordred was capable of.

  Avery straightened as the buzz of her inner anxiety returned.

  “He’s turned them into superfreaks,” Rhys muttered, taking a protective stance next to her.

  “Fae,” she said. “He must have fed his vamps Fae blood.”

  “Wolf blood would be toxic to the undead,” Mason added.

  Unless it was given prior to a mortal’s final breath, Rhys thought, still watching Mason carefully.

  “So, with a little Fae in them, what can we expect?” Rhys said.

  “Daywalkers.” Avery raised what was left of her broken blade. “Bloodsuckers able to tolerate some sunlight and negotiate their way through a forest.”

  “Mon dieu,” Mason muttered with a perfect French accent. “The other one said he had watched his companions die.”

  “Liars. All of them,” Avery remarked. “No one knows that better than I do. They lived. All of them lived.”

  Rhys had closed his eyes. “North. They are heading north.”

  “And so, it seems, are we,” Mason said.

  Their sprint through the trees was silent. They trod the earth lightly, even in boots. Avery had recovered some of her flagging energy. Her body felt feverish, as if the wings were providing heat.

  Mason’s knowledge of this area gave them an advantage. If they could beat Mordred’s vampires to that chateau and keep them from finding shelter when the sun grew too hot for even their Fae blood to endure, the vamps would be trapped.

  Depending on how many suckers Mordred had brought with him, three powerful immortals designed for fighting could cut out that little army’s heart. And Mordred would face the wrath of his alchemical creations.

  Running felt good and served to lift Avery’s spirits. There were no buildings here to search or to hinder their progress, and the road they traversed looked like it was seldom used. Her wings seemed lighter and less of a burden.

  By the time Mason slowed, she figured they had gone three or four miles. Again, Mason held up a hand, then he pointed to a spot beyond the brush where the skeleton of a large building sat. The area smelled of smoke. The burned-out chateau’s facade was mostly intact, with blackened walls and gaping holes where its windows had been. Its roof was gone. The upper story had caved in.

  Dawn light did nothing to rid Avery of the bad feelings attached to this place, but they had succeeded in beating the vampires here.

  Without much time left, they strode to what was left of the chateau. With their backs to the front steps, the three of them waited for the arrival of Mordred’s twenty-first-century gang of fangers.

  Chapter 27

  They arrived in a bunch. Twelve vampires, without their leader. Mordred’s minions. Stranger looking than usual when viewed by the rising light of a new day.

  Rhys’s fingers were glued to the stake in his hand.

  “Rather disappointing turnout.” The seriousness of Mason’s features belied the light tone of his remark.

  “Maybe they’re just the welcoming committee,” Rhys suggested.

  “No. That’s all there are,” Avery said, as if he didn’t already get that. “They’re meant to be nothing more than a pain in our backsides.”

  “They certainly meet that requirement,” Rhys agreed.

  “An aperitif,” Mason said. “Before the main course is served.”

  The blood-tweaked vampires stopped where the trees ended and the swath of old grass began. Rhys heard one of them whine eagerly for the fight that lay ahead. He got the impression, however, that they weren’t completely sure about leaving the shade of those trees, and Rhys wondered if Mordred’s newbies had been recently created for just such a purpose as this one.

  “Big time waster when the ringmaster is a no-show,” Mason muttered.

  “Which begs the question of where he is,” Rhys said.

  “He wouldn’t have known where to send these vampires if he hadn’t followed us here,” Avery aptly pointed out. “He must have stored these new monsters at...”

  “Broceliande,” Rhys finished for her.

  He frowned, pondering the tactics Mordred may have dreamed up in order to remain behind the scene when he
was very likely the strongest vampire in the world. One of an elite few, anyway. Still, vampires couldn’t really harm any of the three immortals here, so what was the point in sending them?

  Distraction? To keep them from what?

  He struggled to comprehend what Mordred had in mind. What was it that beast had said to him in the cavern?

  I can’t destroy that which I’ve created, Knight, and that fact has been my deepest nightmare and the bane of my overextended existence. I made you too well, it seems.

  All of a sudden, those words began to makes sense.

  “He can’t kill us,” Rhys said.

  “Of course not. We’re immortal,” Mason returned.

  Rhys shook his head. “No. That’s not all of it. Mordred can’t kill us for some other reason.”

  “He doesn’t yet have the Grail,” Avery said.

  “So why isn’t he here?” Mason queried.

  There had to be a reason Mordred wasn’t joining his minions. If he couldn’t kill any of the Knights outright, how did he plan on taking the Grail from them?

  Coming up with that answer had to be postponed. The moment had come for the vampires to attack.

  They came in a staggered line, baring their fangs and wielding dark blades. The blades were yet another unexpected anomaly in a long line of them. Still, no blade, cursed or otherwise, could seriously harm either of the beings beside Rhys, especially now that none of these gaunt bastards had Avery’s wings in a cage.

  The first of them ran for Avery. The poor bastards had another thing coming if they imagined she’d stand for being singled out. She moved forward to greet those fangs and adroitly fended off the attack with a slick sideways glide, followed by a practiced arc of her partially broken blade. Rhys heard the jagged blade strike bone...and they were one vampire down.

  He and Mason strode forward together, forming a pattern they had long ago perfected in the holy wars that came to be known as the Crusades. Circle to the right, then come in from behind. One twist of the torso, another lunge, and three more vampires were dust.

  Exploding vampires heralded the rising sun, but taking them down wasn’t quite as easy as usual. These bloodsuckers’ bodies had been tweaked by a master puppeteer. More effort was required to dust them, along with careful timing and a bit of sweat.

  Rhys fought his way to Avery, surprised to find her wearing a tepid smile. She, too, had been created for fighting and was very near to completing her earthly goal. Avery, reunited with her wings, was a dangerous avenger. She might have been the best fighter present, and had nothing to lose.

  Two more vampires were gone.

  Six to go.

  The sun was rising faster than Rhys remembered. Even after feeding on the Fae, these fanged opponents were visibly growing weaker. Their reactions had slowed. Haunted faces showed strain. Two more went down beneath Rhys’s blade and another by stake.

  That left four.

  Two.

  Mason’s silver blade hummed wicked death songs in the early morning air.

  “Mine,” Avery whispered to him, facing the remaining vampires. She had done this before when claiming the right to a kill. Her need for vengeance appeared in the lines of determination on her beautiful face.

  Rhys hesitated. Mason waited. Backing off, as Avery had requested, and staring at the exquisiteness of her skills.

  Avery’s wings were moving, quaking with a struggle to expand. As she sliced with her blade and whirled in a spectacularly fluid death dance, those wings began to open. But it was merely the stretching of a few feathers.

  Beside Rhys, Mason made a surprised, appreciative sound. Some of the color he had seen in his dream-like image of Avery had returned. Blue feathers were still pale, perhaps only healed, yet their whiteness had gone, and they looked stronger.

  Seeing the flutter of her wings, the last vampire standing growled in protest. Then it, too, was reduced to smoky gray ash.

  Avery turned, still holding her blade...which was no longer a jagged shard, but whole again, just like she was.

  She had been right, Rhys thought, about everything.

  * * *

  Avery scanned the area looking for other opponents without finding any. There was no scent of the master, the vampire maker, and that, too, was strange. Mordred would know why she and Rhys had come all this way and that the Grail was near. That madman had sent in his troops to deter the immortals from figuring out his next play.

  Behind her, Rhys was anxious. The ground was covered with ash. Sunlight was spreading. From his vantage point near the steps of the old chateau, Mason LanVal was watching her.

  “We can’t wait much longer,” she said to Mason. “The danger of keeping the chalice here grows with each minute we hesitate.”

  “The Maker hasn’t yet shown his hand,” Mason returned.

  She lowered her blade and turned to Rhys. “How can he end you? What’s the key to taking down an immortal? You and the brother who stands as a barrier between Mordred and what he wants?”

  She inched forward to stress the importance of gaining this information. “Now is the time to share that detail, Rhys. It might be crucial.”

  He glanced to Mason, then nodded.

  “Each Blood Knight has a counterpart soul responsible for turning us off, ending our existence once and for all. None of us know who that is, or where in the world our counterpart resides. We weren’t expected to find those other souls, and aren’t designed to meet.”

  After again glancing at Mason, Rhys continued. “Our Makers planted fail-safe switches in seven other souls who are ultimately responsible for dealing each Knight a final death blow if called into action.”

  She said, “How would they do that?”

  “We don’t know. After all this time, I doubt if those creatures housing the souls would know, either.”

  “What if...” She started over. “What if Mordred has found them and that’s his plan for getting the Grail?”

  “Those souls could be anywhere in the world, Avery. He wouldn’t have allowed them to get too near to us.”

  “But you travel around,” Avery argued.

  “If we were close to those other souls, I think we would have recognized them somehow, in some small way. Besides, he was surprised to see me in that cavern.”

  “Then maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “the rise in monster activity in cities like London has been carefully choreographed to lure you and the other Knights to places where those hidden souls aren’t located. Maybe Mordred didn’t want you to glean any information about what he was up to, hoping to keep you out of his way.”

  “He’d have to face me when he came for the Grail,” Mason said.

  Avery nodded. “He lured me here with the wings. He exposed them to me in order to relieve me of more of my blood. Blood for what? Creating more Blood Knights? Enough of them to overpower the world and set Mordred up as its ruler? All he’d need to make more of you would be two things—angel blood and the Grail. He could start over, hoping the direction of his new Knights wouldn’t get out of hand.”

  The idea seemed right. Everyone here realized those things were viable possibilities. Avery could see them mulling that over.

  Mason said, “I think it’s feasible Mordred has company and isn’t in this alone, whether or not he has found those counterpart souls, and whether or not it’s as you’ve suggested about a force of new Blood Knights. He never did like being on his own.”

  She watched Rhys’s expression change again.

  “The third Maker,” Rhys said. “Mordred’s female companion might be here as well.”

  “Still, you can best them,” Avery pointed out. “No matter how ancient they are, they’re vampires. That’s their weakness. Their souls were dark before they drank from the chalice and once they were soulless, they became eve
n darker. Your souls are light. You’re stronger and able to work in the daylight.”

  “And the light side always wins?” Mason asked.

  “You all have the breath of the heavens in your lungs, and my side doesn’t give up or give in.”

  “The Grail and angel blood?” Mason queried. “Mordred would need that...why?”

  “Long story,” Rhys said, noting Mason’s sudden restlessness. “And true.”

  “Then we go and get the thing you all want,” Mason suggested, without demanding an explanation for that second small hint that things weren’t as he might have always imagined.

  “I have to try to take it,” Avery said.

  “Are you ready, brother?” Mason addressed Rhys.

  Rhys nodded.

  * * *

  How many years had he walked the Earth without knowing the truth? Rhys wondered as he reentered the forest. Hundreds? Thousands? Now that he had discovered the truth, would that mean the end of his extended existence—or the start of a new chapter?

  Avery marched ahead with Mason, each long stride causing her wings to rustle softly. Now and then she turned her head, as if the wings were whispering to her.

  The tips of the feathers had already darkened to a dull red hue. His angel’s hair picked up a slight golden sheen, seen when they passed in and out of the sunlight.

  When Mason stopped, Rhys’s first thought was that this couldn’t be right, because that blasted chateau was still right behind them. They were standing on a mound of dirt surrounded by stones. Trees leaned in from overhead, blocking out most of the day’s early sunlight. It was a small clearing, unworthy of what he now supposed might be buried beneath it, and because of that had been the perfect hiding place for one of the world’s greatest treasures.

  Avery looked at the ground and then knelt down. Her pallor was ashen, more so than usual. He knew her well enough now to note that, and also that her expression seemed strained. Could she feel the golden thing buried here? Her quest was nearly complete.

  From her position on her knees, she looked up at him with the sad eyes of someone torn by indecision. At the moment, Rhys couldn’t have said anything if he’d tried. Give or take the next fight—and surely there would be one—she’d have the Grail. And she’d be gone.