“I needed to speak with you.”
Him in particular?
“So speak, and then leave.” He swept his hand back up his blade to shorten it, but kept it out, gripped at his side in case he needed it.
He tried to deny the curiosity growing inside him, but its grip on him was as fierce as his on his sword, and he found himself wanting to hear what had brought the angel into Hell and to him.
“The witch—”
“Again with this witch?” Rook cut him off.
Why did the angel keep bringing up the female?
His free hand twitched.
He ignored it.
“She needs your help, Rook.” The male took another step forwards, closer to him, and tilted his head up, causing his ponytail to slip from the shoulder of his black armour.
Armour that so closely matched Rook’s own. Strange how an angel who served Heaven could be given such dark armour and wings. It hardly seemed fitting. All the angels who worked near the pool were of this male’s kind though. Rook had only seen one mediator, angels with white wings, in his time. That male had come with this one a few months ago, and Rook had watched them until the Devil had grown furious and had ordered him away from them.
“You help her. I’m not interested.” He went to turn away as a pressing need to leave built inside him.
The Devil exerting his will on him.
He felt it as a tug in his chest, one that had him wanting to move to a distance and call on his legion. He didn’t need to call to them. They were already coming. He could feel it in his blood. Soon, this angel would face the strongest battalion serving Hell.
This time, Rook wouldn’t let the angel flee.
“I cannot find her.” The angel shifted his foot forwards, looking as if he might risk another step, and then clenched his fists at his sides and loosed a black curse. “Listen to me, Rook. She needs you. Only you can find her. I believe that.”
Rook chuckled at that. “You believe it? I am expected to go along with your beliefs? I don’t think so. I recommend you leave now.”
The male stared him down, his blue eyes sober. “You believed in her once.”
He froze again, the collision of feelings he couldn’t grasp sending his mind swirling. Had he known the witch the angel spoke of? His free hand twitched, and this time he didn’t hold it back. He brushed his fingers over the raised crimson crossed axes on his vambrace and down over the skull below them.
He searched his memories and found none of a witch. He had never met one of her kind before. The angel was mistaken.
Dark words rang in his head, his order clear. Make the male leave now or face the consequences of disobedience.
Rook swept his palm down the length of his blade again, transforming it back into his crimson broadsword. He beat his scarlet feathered wings, focused his mind and readied himself.
“Will you listen to me?” the angel barked. “Do not listen to him. He wants you here for some reason. Rook, you must listen to me.”
He growled, baring his sharp teeth, and gripped his sword in both hands. “I know no witch. I have never met one of her kind. I don’t have to listen to you because you mean to deceive me.”
“Fine, Rook.” The male rose to his full height, tipping his chin up as his blue eyes brightened, glowing in the low light. He held his hands out in front of him and twin curved golden blades appeared in them. “We will do this the hard way.”
Rook readied his own sword.
The angel unleashed his black wings, twisted away from him and beat them, hurling a wave of dust at Rook as he shot into the distance.
Rook snarled and gave chase, his wings beating furiously as he fought to catch up. He was damned if he would let the angel escape again. This time, the male was going down. He would capture the creature and present him to the Devil, and his master would recognise his strength and skill.
The position of next commander of the First Battalion would be secured.
Everything he had ever wanted in life would be his.
His wrists burned and he grunted as a wave of fire encircled them, chasing around them beneath his vambraces and searing his bones.
It was all he wanted.
This realm was his everything.
He gritted his teeth against the ribbons of fire as they blazed hotter.
His entire world.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
A feminine voice echoed in the darkness, cutting through the pain.
It reached to him and wrapped him in comforting arms that stole it all away, left him drifting in the shadows, feeling light inside.
“I’ll be with you forever.”
Heat streaked down his cheeks as tremendous pain welled up inside him, agony he couldn’t contain.
He threw his head back and roared.
A single thought crystallised as he emptied his lungs in a desperate attempt to purge the pain that was tearing him to pieces, threatening to consume and destroy him.
The owner of that voice was his entire world.
It shattered as quickly as it had formed.
Rook frowned down at his wrists as he beat his wings to keep him in the air. The breeze from them cooled his face for some reason. He lifted his free hand and brushed his fingers across the wetness on his cheeks, canted his head and studied it as he brought them away.
It meant nothing.
He shifted his gaze from them and fixed it on the retreating angel.
A male who would be his prize and would secure his elevation in the ranks.
He flapped his wings and shot after him, because achieving the position of commander of the First Battalion and the power it would gain him was the only thing he cared about.
It meant everything.
It was his entire world.
The only forever he desired.
CHAPTER 2
Rook caught up with the angel just as he reached the plateau that overlooked the bottomless pit. The fortress rose beyond it, piercing the black vault of Hell, flickering golden light from the broad river of lava that snaked across the land below him illuminating it. A desire to reach that fortress and forget the intruder pounded inside him, tugged at his chest, but he ignored it.
The angel was his means of securing the position he desired.
His only desire.
He grinned as he closed in, beat his wings harder and narrowed the distance between them down to a few metres.
His crimson eyes briefly leaped beyond the male to sweep over the plateau, and his grin stretched wider. The angels of this male’s ranks who normally called it home were nowhere to be seen.
The fool had no backup.
Did he honestly believe himself strong enough to take him on alone? Powerful enough to battle an entire legion of Hell’s angels? Not just a legion, but the legion. The First Battalion. They had carved their name in bone and written it in blood. They were decimators, destroyers of any who stood in their way, an unstoppable force.
And he was their second in command.
The angel landed and jogged forwards a few steps, towards an outcrop of black rocks that rose near the right edge of the plateau, surrounding the pool.
Rook swept down and landed close behind him.
The male slowly turned and Rook scowled at him, his audacity grating on Rook’s last nerve. Still the angel showed no fear. He strode towards the angel, filled with a need to beat it out of him, to punish him for daring to be so calm when he was achingly close to the Devil’s fortress.
His master’s voice curled around him, burrowing deep into him and filling him with strength. He tipped his chin up and called on his demonic form again. His bones lengthened, muscles bulging beneath his skin as it blackened, and he flashed his teeth as they sharpened and turned crimson.
“I almost recognised him for a moment there.” The voice was male, and foreign, didn’t issue from the angel before him.
He wasn’t alone.
Rook snarled, refusing to let the fact the angel had a comrade dissuade him
. He felt no fear. He felt only resolve, the deepest of desires. He had come to claim this angel as his prize, and he would continue with that mission. In fact, he would claim this angel’s companion too.
The Devil was sure to be pleased.
The owner of the voice stepped out from behind the jagged mound of basalt and casually leaned a hip against it as he folded his arms across his broad chest. The tawny-haired male’s rich brown eyes were sharp and focused as they assessed him.
Rook assessed him in return, not missing the fact he wore mortal clothing of a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up his corded forearms and black jeans paired with leather boots.
Definitely not missing the fact the male seemed to have lost something.
His wings.
A fallen angel.
“It’s definitely Rook?” The brunet looked to the dark angel.
“Yes, Einar… I’m sure of it.” The angel glanced over his shoulder at the one called Einar. “Although he claims he does not know any witches.”
Einar’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe they messed with his head.”
Rook growled. “You’re the ones trying to fuck with my head.”
The brunet glanced at his companion. “He certainly sounds like the Rook we knew.”
Rook refused to let his words sway him. Neither of them knew him. He had met the dark angel before in Hell and that was the only reason he felt familiar. He didn’t know this fallen angel.
“Your trick is elaborate, I give you that.” Rook walked to his left, slowly circling the two males, studying them and gathering all the information he could without engaging them. “Do you think bringing a fallen angel will sway me and make me believe you’re not out to hurt me… or perhaps you think it will make me believe you’re some sort of ally of my kind? I hate to disappoint, but it won’t work.”
“No one is out to fool you, Rook.” The dark angel stepped forwards and the twin blades in his hands dematerialised. “And neither of us mean you harm.”
He focused on the fallen one as he slowly edged around, closer to him. It was possible the male was concealing his wings, pretending to be fallen. As the dark angel moved out of his line of sight, clearing the path between him and Einar, the power the black-winged deceiver emanated grew weaker, enough that Rook got a clearer sense of Einar’s power.
It was bound.
Rook had met fallen angels, most of them shortly before they pledged themselves to his master and became like him. This male had all the markers they had borne, a sense that whatever power they had once commanded, it was muted now, hidden beneath layers of pain that ran soul-deep.
“My battalion is coming.” Rook’s gaze darted between them, gauging their reaction to that news.
Neither seemed fazed.
He wanted to grin as it dawned on him that they weren’t going to flee. They intended to fight. The fallen angel would be an easy target, and his pain-in-the-ass comrade would be distracted by protecting him when the battle happened. Capturing them both was going to be almost too easy. He could almost taste that promotion.
Before the metaphorical night was through, he would be one of only a handful of angels trusted by the Devil as his right-hand men.
From there, he would work his way up through that group, tearing down any who stood in his way.
Although, achieving the role of his master’s closest advisor and most-trusted angel would be impossible.
It belonged to the brute, Asmodeus.
An angel who Rook had never seen, had only heard the bloody rumours about. He was legendary. A monster who terrified the demons that inhabited Hell, and one who even some of the Devil’s angels feared.
“Take this.” Einar’s bass voice snapped him back to the foolish angels who were about to become his ticket to glory and power.
Rook scowled at the white card he offered, one that was barely the size of the male’s palm.
Einar glanced at his comrade. “I don’t think he’s going to make this easy, Apollyon.”
“It is a shame that Taylor refused to set foot in this realm. We could have used her help.” The black-haired angel took the card from Einar, and questions about the female he had called Taylor fled as the male shifted his blue eyes to land on him.
Apollyon.
Rook knew this male’s name.
It was almost as legendary as that of Asmodeus.
This angel was destined to battle the Devil at set intervals, his master’s freedom hinging on whether he won or was defeated. Rumour had it that if he won, the Devil could walk free of Hell. Rook couldn’t vouch for how true that was. He only knew tales of the Devil being defeated and confined within his fortress until the power that held him there weakened, allowing him to stray into the lands surrounding it.
“Just take a look.” Apollyon turned the white card towards him.
Rook’s eyes fell to it.
A strange sense of longing swept through him.
Confused the hell out of him.
He didn’t know the ethereal female someone had sketched on the card.
Her pale eyes seemed to hold him though, as if she possessed some power over him, and he couldn’t tear his away from her.
“This is Isadora,” Apollyon said in a low voice, “and she needs your help. You were her guardian once.”
The spell shattered.
His gaze snapped up to meet Apollyon’s.
Instantly dropped back to her again as a thousand questions boiled inside him, twisted him in knots he tried to untangle and free himself from. Whenever he came close to convincing himself it was all a ruse, the threads of those questions tightened around him, holding him fast.
He stared at the female. Isadora.
Her name rang in the chaos of his mind.
“Isadora is the witch I told you about. The one who needs your help, Rook.” Apollyon’s tone was measured, each word spoken carefully, as if the male feared rousing him from his reverie.
It wasn’t possible.
Nothing could stop him from looking at her.
Isadora. A witch. His ward?
He shook his head. “I’ve been an angel of Hell for centuries… no witch can live that long. They’re as mortal as the humans. You’re lying to me.”
Yet he still couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
“We don’t know how she has survived so long,” Einar said and he sensed the male move away from the rocks, coming to stand beside Apollyon.
“We only know that she is in danger, Rook.” Apollyon.
That same collected tone, each word spoken in a way that irked Rook for some reason. Always with the damned control. For once, Rook wanted to see him let loose. He wanted to see him raise hell.
Why?
The desire winked out of existence before Rook could find the answer to that question. It meant nothing. He focused on the drawing of the female. Isadora. Was she something?
She was nothing.
He felt he should feel that, but it didn’t stick. The sensation she stirred in him remained, setting him on edge, making him restless with a need to do something.
Fight the angels and claim his position as one of the Devil’s trusted men?
Or save her?
“We need to find her.” Apollyon moved the picture closer to him. “The people who have her might be hurting her right now.”
He growled, the violence of it shocking him together with the urge that bolted through him, lit up his blood and had him stretching his leathery wings—he needed to find her. The thought of her coming to harm had his fangs lengthening, his lips peeling back off them as he gripped his blade.
He needed to save her.
He shook his head, staggered back a step, and wrenched his gaze away from her picture. It was a lie. A trick.
“You have to believe us, Rook.” Einar stepped towards him but Apollyon held his arm out at his side, blocking the male’s path to him.
Rook growled and snapped his fangs at them as he burrowed the fingers of his free hand throug
h his thick black hair. He gripped his skull so hard that it hurt, squeezing it tightly. It was better than the pain of the thoughts spinning through his mind, ones that had him unsure whether he was coming or going, confused about everything as twin needs warred inside him.
Capture the angels and secure his position.
Or save her?
He stumbled back another step.
His master’s voice reached him through the clamour of his thoughts, luring his eyes away from the deceivers to the fortress beyond them.
The First Battalion filled the sky between him and the castle.
His men were coming.
Relief swept through him, threatening to rip his strength from him. He pushed the weakness aside and readied his blade, resolve flooding him as he turned back towards the angels.
They looked over their shoulders.
“Time to leave.” Einar grabbed Apollyon’s arm and the dark angel glared at him. “If we’re dead, we can’t help her.”
No. Rook wasn’t going to let them escape.
He launched at them on a snarl.
Apollyon turned his glare on him and power pressed down on Rook, slowing his movements as it buffeted him, had his muscles growing sluggish as his body fought against the strength of it. He growled and kept pressing forwards, each step harder than the last. The bastard was stronger than Rook had suspected, commanded power far beyond any angel he had met before.
But he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
He just had to delay the male long enough for his legion to reach them.
Apollyon spread his huge black wings, grabbed Einar around his waist and lifted into the air with a single powerful beat.
Rook unleashed a roar and lumbered towards them, intent on stopping them from getting away.
The dark angel was over twenty metres above him by the time he mustered enough of his own power to push back against the overwhelming force of Apollyon’s. The second he was sure his wings wouldn’t fail him, Rook beat them and kicked upwards, propelling himself towards the angel.
Apollyon glanced down, his face dark as the black slashes of his eyebrows knitted hard above his blue eyes.
“Think about it, Rook,” the male bit out and grimaced as he flew harder, increasing the distance between them. “Really think about her.”
Bound Angel (Her Angel: Bound Warriors paranormal romance series Book 4) Page 2