The Angel's Vow: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Series (Bloodcaster Chronicles Book 2)

by R. L. Perez

  I clenched my teeth. My hands formed fists at my side. In a flash, my dark wings burst from my shoulder blades, casting shadows on me and Benny. Luke gagged and waved a hand in front of his face as feathers smothered him. I shifted slightly so my wings weren’t in front of him, then faced Hector again.

  Hector, at least, had the good sense to look alarmed at the sight of my wings. Magic circled through me, and an eerie red glow emanated from my hands.

  That was new.

  Hector’s eyes widened slightly. “Very impressive,” he murmured, his expression serious. All humor and mockery in his tone vanished.

  “You want to talk?” I shouted. “Then, talk.”

  “I came to warn you,” Hector said.

  My eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Hector sighed. Something about his face seemed . . . different. I couldn’t quite place what it was. “I’m a Timekeeper now, Vince. I see so much more than I did before. Someone is trying to alter the timeline. And I’ve finally figured out who it is.”

  I sensed Luke stiffen next to me. Even Benny froze, his yellow eyes fixed intently on Hector.

  “Why should I believe anything you say?” I asked.

  “Because I preserve the timeline now,” Hector said, his eyes earnest. “I wouldn’t be a Timekeeper if I didn’t have the Call inside me.”

  “The Call,” I repeated in a flat voice.

  Hector gestured to Luke. “Ask him. You can’t be a Timekeeper unless you have the flow of the timeline within you. The urge to protect it.”

  I went very still, suddenly remembering those small urges I’d had when I time traveled. The quiet voice inside me telling me to stay hidden. To avoid being seen. To return to a certain point in time.

  “He’s right,” Luke said, his voice a bit stronger than before. He looked at me with a grim expression. “Not everyone has the Call. Those who do go through a rigorous testing process before they become a Timekeeper. Hector’s telling the truth.”

  I scowled. I didn’t believe that for a second.

  “I can prove it,” Hector said quickly. “The man you’re looking for is named Quentin Cox.”

  My brow furrowed. Where had I heard that last name before?

  “Go to Cora Covington’s apartment,” Hector said. “He’s there now.”

  Panic filled my chest, and realization slammed into me. Cox had been Cora’s real last name. Cordelia Cox.

  Quentin was her father.

  My arms flew out, snatching Benny and Luke by their wrists. Luke yelped. Hector shouted my name. But I didn’t even hesitate before Jumping, focusing intently on the apartment complex I’d only seen once before.

  Gravity slammed into me, and the three of us toppled to the ground in a heap. My wings were still outstretched behind me, dragging me backward like weights were tied to me.

  “Vince,” Luke groaned, staggering to his feet.

  “Stay here,” I said. If Hector hadn’t been there, I would’ve just left them both at Luke’s house.

  “Like hell,” Benny snapped. In a flash, he’d shifted to his wolf form, a powerful white beast bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. He fixed his yellow eyes on me as if challenging me.

  I sighed, glancing at Luke over my shoulder. “Stay hidden. We’ll be back.”

  Luke’s face was pale, but he nodded.

  I followed Benny’s lead, since I didn’t actually know Cora’s apartment number. A petty side of me hated that Benny had been to her place and I hadn’t, but I shoved the thought away. Now wasn’t the time for childish jealousy.

  Cora was in danger. The Bloodcaster she was looking for was her father. The thought sent icy coils of dread pulsing through my chest.

  Faster. Faster. My legs pushed on and on until I was practically flying. Benny easily kept a brisk pace in front of me, and I remained on his tail.

  We climbed a set of stairs, darting down hallways until Benny came to a stop. I didn’t need to ask if this was it.

  The door swung off its hinges. Broken glass littered the linoleum floor inside. A dark stain pooled in front of my feet. Crouching over, I leaned close.

  It was blood. Purple blood.

  Benny and I shared a horrified look before we burst inside.

  “Cora?” I shouted, darting from room to room. More shards of glass. Broken furniture. Stains of blood.

  No, no, no . . .

  “The Grimoire’s gone,” Benny said. I jumped and whirled, surprised to see him in human form. White hair still coated his arms. His eyes were wild with rage. “So are all her potion vials.”

  I gazed numbly around the wrecked apartment, too shocked to say anything. This was Cora. How could anyone have gotten the jump on her? Even if her father was a Bloodcaster, she was a deadly assassin. People whispered her name and shied away from her, fearing even a deadly glance from the Blade of Hinport.

  “Did you know?” I asked, finding my voice at last. “Did you know her father was alive?”

  Benny’s jaw went rigid. Slowly, he shook his head. “Are we sure that’s who came for her?”

  “It’s my best guess. Cora was looking for a Bloodcaster, and they only get their magic if both parents have it too. Unless she happens to have a Bloodcaster uncle or something . . .” I trailed off. A cold, hard emptiness solidified in my stomach. Cora was gone. We were too late.

  Benny inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The wolf hair on his arms stood up.

  “Can you smell her?” I asked.

  He nodded and sniffed again. When his eyes opened, he growled, “Damn. He Jumped. I can’t track her.”

  He Jumped. Cora had said Bloodcasters could essentially create a potion with every kind of magic available. She once told me she’d taken a Nephilim elixir.

  I straightened, my heart racing. With a gasp, I raced toward Cora’s room, searching her dresser and bookshelf for her potion notes. Unless Quentin had taken those too . . .

  Then, I found it. The notebook was open to the page on Nephilim elixirs. As if Cora had been searching for the same thing I was. A shiver raced down my spine as I read her note: can it be substituted for a dark feather for dark Nephilim powers?

  “Merciful Lilith,” I breathed. The notebook shook in my hands. My skin suddenly turned cold.

  A Bloodcaster could acquire Reaper powers.

  Quentin was the magic thief. The one who’d slaughtered my people.

  And now he had Cora.

  22

  Cora

  My head throbbed in a sickening rhythm that pulsed through me, each beat bringing a wave of nausea. My head was spinning. Icy darkness surrounded me.

  I vaguely remembered the details of the fight with my father. Broken chairs. Shattered glass. I’d managed to cut him twice.

  But once he’d shifted to that . . . that monster . . . I’d known it was over. I tried recalling the details of the beast, but my head turned fuzzy. All I could remember was fur, claws, fangs, and magic pouring from his mouth. I’d never seen anything like it.

  I groaned, trying to rise. But chains rattled, and resistance pulled at my wrists. Though I was enveloped in darkness, I knew I was in some kind of prison cell.

  “Ah, Cordelia, you’re awake,” said a soft voice.

  I flinched. His voice—my name—jarred too many memories within me. The dank orphanage from my childhood. The ragged blanket I’d finally thrown out when I’d changed my name. Everything I’d tried so desperately to put behind me.

  My father chuckled. “Don’t worry. The drug will wear off soon.”

  “What did you give me?” My voice was a low rasp.

  “Just something to knock you out. You put up quite a fight earlier. I’m impressed.”

  I shifted my arms, trying to feel out my surroundings even though I couldn’t see. There had to be a way out. No one knew I was here. No one even knew my father was alive. Until a few hours ago, I hadn’t known, either.

  As a child, I’d been told my parents were dead. All my life, I’d believed it. How could I n
ot? My blood made me a constant target.

  “You aren’t the least bit curious?” my father asked.

  I couldn’t see him, but I glared at the space where his voice was coming from. “About what?”

  “Who I am? Where I’ve been all this time?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I said no!” I spat. “I don’t care who you are or why you left me or what your life is like at all. I don’t give a damn about you! You’re just some asshole who wants my blood. Just like all the others. So you can go to hell.”

  He remained silent. I expected him to laugh again. But instead he said softly, “It’s difficult, isn’t it? Always being hunted.”

  I said nothing. I would not bond with him over this. We were nothing alike.

  As if reading my mind, he went on, “You and I aren’t so different, you know. We both had to cope with a dangerous life, always being on the run. You became a skilled killer, using weapons and cleverness to best your opponents. I also became a skilled killer . . . but with my magic.”

  “I’m not like you,” I hissed.

  This time, he did laugh. His voice was closer than before, and I instinctively shifted away from him. “I know more about you than you think, Cordelia. You’re no saint. So spare me your judgment. You and I both kill for our own benefit.”

  “That’s not true,” I said through clenched teeth. “Not anymore.”

  He scoffed. “Oh, really? What, because now you’re a coven leader? You’ve changed your ways? Turned over a new leaf? You thirst for death, Cordelia. You always have. And you always will.”

  Agony lanced through me at his words. I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t have to. Part of me knew he was right. Even when I became a leader and set down my blade, I still longed for violence. It was a habit. It was comfortable for me.

  Did that make me a monster like him?

  “This is your only chance to ask the questions you’ve held onto over the years,” my father said. “Hate me all you want, Cordelia. But I’m the only one who has the answers.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I snarled.

  “It’s your name. Your mother picked it out. Said it belonged to her grandmother.”

  My throat felt hot. I tried swallowing, but something had lodged itself inside so I couldn’t breathe.

  “You look like her, you know,” he went on. “She had the same dark hair and bright eyes. You’ve got my strong chin and jawline, though. Remarkable, really. The likeness to Henrietta.”

  Henrietta Cox. That was my mother. Another fresh stab of pain seared through my chest, like his words were physically assaulting me. “Please stop,” I moaned, hunching over, trying to shut out his voice.

  But he continued, “Her magic smelled like lilacs. Yours does too. But while I had ambitions for finding a way to Ascend, she wanted to form a Bloodcaster coven. She didn’t care about power—only unity. She wanted to seek out more like us.”

  I crammed my eyes shut. I didn’t want this—any of it.

  “She was narrow-minded.” His voice drew closer. “Weak. She didn’t realize we had more potential on our own than if we had a full coven.”

  “So you sacrificed her?” I croaked. “Great solution.”

  My father was silent for a moment. Then, he said, “You of all people should understand how to separate your emotions from what must be done.”

  I barked out a harsh laugh. “What must be done? I seriously doubt you were forced to sacrifice your own wife.”

  “Her carelessness was going to get her killed.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “She knew from the beginning our relationship was purely platonic. We were only looking to further our bloodline.”

  I shook my head, my mouth twisting in a disgusted grimace. It was horrifying. The idea of mating with someone else just to produce offspring—and then sacrificing all of them. Slaughtering your whole family for power. I myself never wanted children because of the life I led. I didn’t want to bring kids into a world like this, a world where I had to kill on a regular basis.

  But desiring a family . . . purely for the intent to destroy them? It was sick.

  “My name is Quentin, by the way,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Quentin chuckled. I heard him shifting, and I automatically tensed. But then his footsteps drifted away from me.

  “I’ll return shortly with a meal for you,” he said.

  My mouth fell open. “What? You’re feeding me?”

  “Would you prefer I left you to starve?”

  “Just sacrifice me and get it over with!” I snapped.

  Quentin laughed. “So eager to die. I admire your courage, Cordelia. But it’s too soon. You’re weakened from our little scuffle earlier. Your blood will be fresher if I let you recover and regain your strength.”

  Like I was some pig waiting to be fattened up for a holiday feast. “Go to hell.”

  “Enjoy your solitude, Cordelia.”

  I spat in his direction as he walked away. A tiny chink of light briefly illuminated the room, revealing what appeared to be a large basement. A long chain surrounded me, and a tiny cot rested on the opposite side of the room—too far for me to reach. I shuddered at the thought of Quentin sleeping down here with me chained to the wall.

  Darkness swallowed the room again, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted. But there were no windows. No light source at all.

  I was completely blind. And I had no doubt Quentin had done that on purpose.

  Struggling against the chains, I wiggled my fingers, trying to summon my magic. As I expected, nothing happened. Quentin didn’t strike me as the idiotic type to chain a Bloodcaster unless he had magic dampeners.

  But . . . a sliver of hope slowly bloomed within me. I twisted my wrist, and a grin spread across my face.

  These chains were loose enough. Not like the tight cuffs Vince and I had been trapped in just before I’d killed Damien. No, these were old chains. It disturbed me to think about why Quentin had access to chains like these and what other horrors lurked down here.

  But for now, I had a way to escape.

  I shifted my weight, grunting slightly. When my hands were gathered behind my back, I felt for my knuckles until I found my thumbs.

  With a forceful grunt, I shoved my thumb backward into the socket, breaking the bone. Agony flared in my hand, shooting upward in my body and making me see white spots. My thumb hung limply, and my whole hand was on fire. Sucking in a breath, I shifted again, each movement sending stabs of pain through my body.

  Then, I broke my other thumb.

  I bit back a roar of anguish, my teeth cutting into my bottom lip. The last thing I wanted was for Quentin to return. I couldn’t beat him at my best, let alone with two broken thumbs.

  Moving gingerly, I slid the chains off my wrists and sighed with relief. Out of habit, I blinked several times, my eyes still working to adjust to my surroundings. But the utter pitch blackness engulfed me.

  That was fine. I could work in the dark. I just had to get away from the magic dampeners first.

  Struggling to remember that brief flash of light that illuminated the room, I rose to my feet, my legs trembling from disuse. My steps were slow and careful as I edged away from the chains. I ran into something solid and hissed before scooting around it. I brushed a few uninjured fingers against the surface. It felt like a small table. I found the edges to make sure I stepped around it. I felt for the wall that I knew was close by. When I found it, I exhaled with relief.

  I can do this, I thought. I can do this.

  After a few steps, I wiggled my good fingers.

  There it was. A spark of my familiar magic. Thank Lilith. In a shaky breath, I uttered a spell.

  “Magic above and powers that be,

  Heal the injuries inflicted on me.

  Use the strength and force of my power,

  To strengthen my body here this hour.”


  A flash of purple light. I quickly scanned the room, drinking in as many details as I could before the glow vanished.

  Bookshelves along the walls. A small set of stairs leading to a closed door. A washer and dryer in the corner.

  Snap. I inhaled a sharp breath as my bones set into place. Snap. My other thumb was healed. A fresh flare of pain spread through me, followed instantly by numbing relief. Though my thumbs still throbbed, I could wiggle them easily. And the fuzziness from whatever Quentin had drugged me with was gone too.

  With the sudden strength and energy coursing through my body came the confidence I needed. I would escape. And I would take down my father.

  I was Cora Covington. And I was not weak.

  I held up my hands and summoned my magic again, using the purple glow to focus on the room once more. Squinting at the walls, I determined there were, in fact, no windows. Something in me deflated. I was hoping they’d just been boarded up or something. But no—it looked like my only way out was through the door, which was probably locked. And I doubted Quentin would go far. Breaking through that door would draw his attention, and I wasn’t sure if I could beat him if it came down to a fight.

  My jaw ticked back and forth as I considered my options. Gradually, an idea formed in my head. I approached the bookshelf I knew was on the opposite wall. When my fingers grasped the edges, I gritted my teeth and threw all my weight against it until it tipped over. Jumping backward, I yelped as it crashed to the ground, the loud noise making my eardrums throb.

  I hurried across the room, dodging books and various items on the floor before I reached the small table I’d run into earlier. I snatched it, raising it high above me as I crept underneath the set of stairs, waiting.

  Someone unlocked the door. It swung open, bathing the room in light again. I slid backward, farther into the shadows as Quentin descended the stairs.

  The footsteps faltered as he no doubt noticed I was no longer chained up.

  When his shadowy form appeared in front of me, I lunged, swinging the table hard against his head.

  A strangled shout burst from his mouth, and I froze.

  This wasn’t Quentin.

  The figure fell to the ground, now illuminated by the small chink of light left from the open door.