by Kyra Quinn
His arrogance fueled my irritation. I pushed to my feet and steadied myself, raising my fists to brace for another attack. “We will not allow your tantrum over your abandonment destroy Astryae. Find another way to bring your gods home.”
My thoughts flashed to the years spent with Father praying to deities who had long since stopped listening. Without gods to serve, the angels answered to no one. The disappearance of their creators had left them with ample time and resources to terrorize Astryae. No matter what we did, it would never stop. Not until the gods returned, or the angels ceased to exist.
Face to face with one of the creatures who had murdered the man who raised me, blood lust and vengeance consumed me. I bent my knees as my stomach coiled like a spring. A dark, hungry energy buzzed through my body. How much more powerful would I grow if I fed on an Archangel?
I had never dreamed of taking a life before my eighteenth birthday. Visits to the butcher’s stall had made me queasy as a girl. When the angels had arrived at our door and murdered my father, I did nothing to stop them. Now, I found myself drunk on how easily my powers determined who lived and who died. A giddy glee filled my chest as I imagined my mouth filling with the Archangel’s bittersweet magiya.
I lunged for the Archangel’s face, but he lifted his leg and delivered a hard kick to my sternum, sending me flying until I crashed through a small wooden table and into a pillar. The force of my impact cracked the surface of the marble, and for a moment I worried the entire roof might collapse and kill us both. I shook my head and steadied myself. Zachariah swung for my face once, twice, three times, and each time his blade missed by a smaller margin.
I willed my powers to give me strength and charged for him again. Zachariah must not have expected it. He didn’t move until my fist connected with the underside of his jaw. A satisfying crunch rang through the temple. He stumbled back, and I used the opportunity to aim a kick at his stomach. He caught my leg mid-air and flipped me onto the ground without flinching. My head slammed against the stone floor, followed by a shoulder and chest. A deep crack like a spiderweb spread from where I landed to the door. The angel’s sadistic laugh filled my ears.
“Surrender now and accept your fate.”
Zachariah slammed the steel tip of his boot into my stomach. Bile rose from my throat as my gut clenched. My lungs burned for oxygen. I tried to push myself up, but Zachariah’s fist smashed against my nose. I flew backwards, my vision blurred. Pain split through my skull until I wanted to rip it from my shoulders to stop the agony.
He moved to strike again, but I rolled to the left in time for him to punch the crushed and dented floor. I gritted my teeth and forced myself up, disregarding the sharp stabbing sensation pulsing behind my eyes.
Zachariah growled. He waved his hand once more. Tiny seashells and pebbles and other trinkets flew from the altar. I shielded my head with my hands as the objects pelted into my chest and arms. A bead of sweat dripped down Zachariah’s face. “Enough.”
I jumped back as he swung his sword at my abdomen. The tip of the blade grazed my shirt. Cold air rushed through the wide gash in the center of the fabric. The edges of the fabric sizzled and charred as if burned, and I shuddered picturing the same thing happening to my flesh.
I pressed my back against the wall opposite the door. My mind raced as I tried to formulate some defense against the winged nightmare. The sword gave him a definite advantage, one I had little way to protect myself against. I could only dodge him for so long. If I wanted any hope of returning to Aster’s alive, I needed to knock the sword from his hand.
Aster had given me so little time to practice with my powers, my only hope was as likely as a warm day in the dead of winter. The angel stood at least twice my size and strength. I had no chance of besting him in physical combat. I clenched my teeth and focused my attention on the dull buzz in my fingertips, my gaze locked onto the angel’s flaming sword. If he tossed objects around with a simple wave, maybe I could, too. I was as much Samael’s daughter as Daeva’s.
The tip of the blade wobbled first, then the rest of the sword. The angel’s grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. The sword twisted and tugged in his hands until it pulled free and lifted into the air above him. I gave a clumsy wave of my arm. The weapon flew to the other side of the temple and clattered against the floor.
The angel stiffened. “You think I need a sword? Some filthy spawn of Daeva?” His hand flew out and wrapped around my neck. He squeezed and lifted me from the ground. My legs kicked and flailed as I struggled for air. My vision blurred. I threw my hands out and slammed my palm against his head.
Zachariah staggered. His fingers unclenched as he collapsed to the ground. I dove on top of him, hand still squeezed against his forehead. His body thrashed and wriggled beneath me, nearly knocking me off. One of his fists connected with the side of my jaw, but I dug my knees into his sides and steadied myself. His breath felt hot and wet beneath my arms.
His hands continued to punch and scratch at my face. One hit sent a gush of thick red blood from my nose. Pain like needles dipped in gin shot through my skull. The veins in his head bulged as his face darkened.
Zachariah’s hands fall to his sides. His eyes bulged and rolled back in his head. Thick white foam poured from his mouth and out through the cracks between my fingers. I shrieked and jerked my hand back, but his bile covered my skin. I wrinkled my nose and wiped his fluids on his charcoal slacks, my stomach churning.
I didn’t release my palm from the angel’s head until a few minutes after his twitches and moans had died off. When I climbed off his lifeless body and back to my feet, my lips curled into a smile. Every inch of my body buzzed with so much power I thought I might burst into a thousand little stars, pieces of me splattered across the night sky on display. For the first time since my father’s death, I didn’t feel empty or fear for the future. I felt strong. Beautiful. Powerful. As if the world were mine to protect or destroy.
I glanced down at the angel’s body and frowned as I thought of what Aster or Remiel might say. Fortunately, I saw no reason for them to know. I gave the angel’s face one last kick for good measure. Dropping to my knees beside him, I pressed my hand over his chest and closed my eyes. His flesh was warm beneath my touch, but I held my hand in place until heat burned my skin. I opened my eyes and jerked my hand back. Fire engulfed every inch of the Archangel’s body, his flesh already charring. I smirked and rose to my feet, strolling towards the doors and bolting into the waiting darkness. The skirmish had knocked most of my hair from my braid, my midsection exposed through the rip in my shirt. I had little doubt the angel had shattered my nose and a few ribs. My left eye pulsed in rhythm with the pounding of my head. Anyone who saw me in such a state would gossip about me for weeks.
But I didn’t care who gaped at me or what they might think. I was too drunk on power, too eager to return to Aster’s and wash away the evidence. The voice of reason in the back of my mind urged me to worry more about the consequences of what I’d done, but I couldn’t. Instead, I stared at the temple until thick clouds of black smoke poured from the doors. Flames swallowed the building, Zachariah’s body soon to reduce to ash. No one would suspect what he was or how he had died.
With one last glance at the temple behind me, I tilted my head and flapped my wings until I lifted into the air. The smile on my lips remained as I lifted myself high above Carramar. The surrounding sky turned the color of blood, but I paid it no mind.
Let my father bring his war to Astryae. I was ready.
Also by Kyra Quinn
Thank you for reading Son of Saints! I hope you enjoyed reading the next installment in the series as much as I enjoyed writing it. The next book will release in early 2020. Dive into these other great reads while you wait!
Mother of Darkness (Renegade Guardians Prequel)
US
UK
AU
CA
Daughter of Nightmares (Renegade Guardians Book One)
U
S
UK
AU
CA
Bathed in the Blood (Standalone Psychological Suspense)
US
UK
AU
CA
About the Author
Kyra Quinn spends most of her time in make-believe worlds with imaginary people. According to her parents (who are arguably unreliable narrators themselves), Kyra's love for chilling tales and the occult began as soon as she learned to read. By fourth grade, Kyra had penned her first attempt at a ghost story for a local magazine. She is now an emerging author of dark speculative fiction and supernatural suspense. Her love for psychology and eccentric imagination has led Kyra to create dangerous worlds inhabited by magic, misfits, and mayhem. While her first love is gothic fantasy, Kyra also enjoys exploring twisted psychological suspense thrillers and slow-burn romance subplots. Her work proudly features diverse casts of characters, strong female protagonists, and the occasional transgressive themes. She and her twin daughters live in the mountains of North Carolina in a tiny cottage perfumed with sage to keep the bad spirits away. When she isn't reading or writing, she enjoys true crime documentaries, activism activities, and getting lost down the research rabbit hole.