CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I FELT LIKE I couldn’t breathe. His mouth was still pressed to my skin, caramel-colored hair like rough silk against my forehead, breaths teasing my ear with soft heat. Add that to his revelation, and the wall was the only thing holding me up.
“Adrian,” I began.
“Don’t.” His hand tightened in my hair. “Everything that’s happened since we met only proves how entangled in our fates we already are. Judians and Davidians have always been drawn to one another, but then Judians betray and destroy Davidians. Thousands of years and countless betrayals later, we’re the only ones left.”
His hand stroked from my shoulder to my face, moving over it in a caress that made my skin burn.
“Maybe being the last of our lines made what we feel for each other so much stronger. I’m not just drawn to you, Ivy. I’ve wanted you since the first time you touched me. It was as if you reached inside and claimed something that had always been yours.” He drew back to stare at me as if he was trying to memorize my features. “That’s why I thought you had to be a minion. Nothing but dark magic had ever felt so powerful, and when I touch you, it’s a thousand times worse. You’re the light I can never have...and I’m the darkness you’ll never succumb to.”
His hand dropped, leaving my skin feeling cold. “That’s why it would never work between us, so now you understand why I need to get away from you, Ivy. Before I betray you like everyone else in my line has betrayed Davidians. I refuse that part of my fate, and it’s not just to spite Demetrius anymore. It’s because I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”
Before my next breath, he was standing in the sanctuary entrance, the night surrounding him like a cloak.
“So do what your ancestors weren’t able to,” he rasped. “Save yourself by never believing you can save me.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with questions I had no answers to and emotions I couldn’t seem to control.
* * *
TOMAS SAT IN the sanctuary with me, his cell phone screen providing a small circle of light. Adrian and Costa were on the roof, watching out for any unwelcome visitors. Even if Adrian wasn’t the only one who could see in the dark, he still wouldn’t have stayed down here. His decision to avoid me didn’t take into consideration my wishes on the subject.
For now, I’d let him get away with that. My emotions got in the way when Adrian was near, so this gave me a chance to separate fact from feeling. Unfortunately, that hadn’t helped.
Fact: Adrian had lived like a demon for many years. Feeling: with how he’d been brought up, he wouldn’t have known it was wrong. Fact: he felt doomed to repeat the mistakes of his ancestors. Feeling: to hell with them, everyone was responsible for their own choices. Fact: I didn’t want to be betrayed. Feeling: Adrian wouldn’t do it. Fact: I shouldn’t fall for a borderline psychopath with demonic daddy issues. Feeling: something special was brewing between me and Adrian, and it had nothing to do with Adrian being the last Judian or me being the last Davidian.
The sound of a car interrupted my thoughts. I ran over to the window, but Tomas said, “Don’t worry, it’s my friends.”
“How do you know?” I couldn’t see anything except headlights.
“Because they just texted me, ‘Don’t shoot, we’re here.’”
Okay, then. Tomas went to tell Adrian and Costa, and I stayed in the sanctuary, watching through windows that hadn’t seen a pane of glass in decades. A worn Chevy pulled into the monastery, two people in front and one in the back. They got out, speaking Spanish so rapidly I only caught the names Tucco, Danny and Jorge. They’d brought a bunch of weapons, though, and that made them a welcome sight.
Adrian was in the middle of checking the scope on a rifle when he paused, staring into the distance. “Are there more of you coming, Tucco?”
“No, por qué?” the shorter man replied.
Adrian cocked the rifle. “Take positions on top of the church,” he said curtly. “We’ve got company.”
I didn’t see anything, but I believed him. So did the others. They scrambled to unload the rest of the guns, then at Adrian’s command, parked the truck in front of the sanctuary. Now the vehicle blocked the largest entrance to where I was, although the windows were big enough for someone to get through.
Adrian proved that when he vaulted through one, angling his big body sideways to fit.
“Here,” he said, pressing a small caliber gun into my hand. “This’ll be easier for you to use. It’s cocked and ready. All you have to do is pull the trigger.”
“And not get it yanked away,” I said grimly.
Adrian flashed me a smile. “Second time’s the charm.”
I hoped so. “Adrian, before you go—”
“No matter what happens, stay here,” he said, cutting me off. “They can’t cross hallowed ground. The gun’s for emergencies, but Tomas’ll be with you. Stay down so the minions don’t see you. We’ll be on the roof, keeping them from getting too close.”
“No,” I protested, but he was already gone. Tomas jumped through the window Adrian had just vacated, his dark gaze flicking to me as he accepted a bundle of automatic weapons from Costa.
“You want to help, sí?” At my vigorous nod, Tomas gestured to the weapons. “I’ll show you how to change the magazines. When I run out, you replace them.”
In the short time it took me to learn, three cars began bouncing across the desert terrain toward the monastery, their headlights the only illumination for miles.
“Any chance they’re lost tourists?” I asked with a fake chuckle.
Tomas shrugged. “Could be members of a local drug cartel.”
“Oh, let’s hope.”
When they were close enough to notice the truck blocking the entrance, the vehicles screeched to a stop. A barrage of gunfire from the roof cut off the instant chatter of Demonish, dashing any chance that these were drug runners looking to hide their stash.
As instructed, I stayed low while the minions returned fire. Then again, these ocher-colored walls were already in bad shape; I doubted they’d stop bullets for long. Maybe we should’ve tried to hide. As soon as I thought it, I rejected the idea. Would minions sent on a murder mission by demons really be content to shine a flashlight around and then call it a night?
“This one’s out,” Tomas said, dropping one rifle and snatching up another. Quickly, I replaced the magazine, trying not to flash back to the last firefight when I’d been almost killed. Easier said than done with the rat-a-tat-tat-tat! of gunfire going off. If I lived through this, I’d never be able to watch a war movie without risking a PTSD attack.
Right now, I channeled my anxiety into replacing Tomas’s ammunition as fast as he needed it. The pile of magazines seemed to be shrinking at an alarming rate, and the sanctuary walls were beginning to look like Swiss cheese from the hits they were taking. Every time a bullet penetrated, a small cloud of stone dust puffed out. There had been so many, the air was starting to get chalky.
Worse, it sounded like fewer guns were firing back from the roof. I tried not to think about what that meant, or drive myself crazy wondering if Adrian was okay. Every so often, a shout would rise above the other noises, but I couldn’t tell who made it. The roof had stone arches, carvings and a bell tower to hide behind, but if they were sustaining as much damage as the sanctuary walls, things were getting dire.
And we were down to only two clips of ammo.
“How many minions are still out there?” I asked Tomas, needing to shout to be heard above the gunfire.
“Four more carfuls just pulled up,” he yelled back.
Four! An irrational urge to start screaming built, but I choked it back with forced optimism. We’d survived a minion attack before. If we hung in there, we’d survive again—
Tomas spun around, clutching his chest.
Horrified, I saw a new hole in the wall right where he’d been standing. I barely managed to catch him before he crumpled, crimson leaking out between his fingers.
I set him down and rushed across the room to retrieve the manna Adrian had left. Something burned in my leg, but I ignored it, zigzagging to avoid more bullets on my way back.
“No,” Tomas groaned, coughing up blood with the word.
I tore open the bag and, pulling his hands away, clapped a large glob of manna onto his chest. He coughed up more blood, then his lips stretched into a grisly imitation of a smile.
“Doesn’t work...mortal wounds.”
My eyes welled, causing his features to blur. “You’re not dying,” I insisted, pressing another handful to his chest.
“Can’t save...me.” His breathing became labored, and blood continued to stream through my fingers, soaking the manna.
“Don’t talk,” I said, desperately trying to stem the flow. “You need to save your strength.”
Tomas stared at me, and for a second, the agonized haze left his vision and his eyes became clear.
“You need to save Adrian,” he said distinctly. Then his eyes rolled back, and his body convulsed before he went limp.
“Tomas!” I screamed.
No response. His chest didn’t rise for another breath, and the gush of blood between my fingers slowed to a trickle. I didn’t need to check for a pulse to know he was gone. Slowly, I lifted my hands from his chest and sent a single glare upward that wasn’t directed at the men on the roof.
Why? I thought furiously. He was fighting for Your side! Don’t You even care?
No response again, not that I expected any. Maybe Adrian was right and we were nothing more than collateral damage to both sides. Fine. If the Archon’s boss wouldn’t do anything to help, I would.
I picked up Tomas’s gun, barely noticing how hot the metal was from his repeated firing. Every part of me was consumed by guilt and rage. I’d stayed down like they told me to, and Tomas had died. No more. I’d fight and live, or I’d fight and die, but either way, I was fighting.
I braced the barrel against a hole in the wall like Tomas had done and started firing. For the first few rounds, my aim was terrible, and I hit the cars the minions hid behind instead of them. Stone exploded near my face as they returned fire. I ducked low until it stopped, then began firing again, aiming for the flashes of light I’d glimpsed from the minions’ guns.
I didn’t hear a yelp, but one of their weapons abruptly went silent. I felt nothing except grim satisfaction, which surprised the small part of me that hadn’t been irrevocably changed by the past two weeks. I kept firing, scooting over when the wall became too pocked with holes for sufficient protection. I’d just replaced the magazine clip with the last full one when a thunderous boom shook the sanctuary.
Sand rolled in like a fast-moving fog. Between that and the sudden glare of headlights, I was momentarily blinded, but the noise and the shuddering ground kept me moving. I ran toward the back, keeping low, which was a good thing. The sickening rushes of air over me had to be gunshots I barely avoided.
“Ivy!” I heard someone scream before a frenzy of gunfire drowned out the sound. Then another, more ominous noise swelled. Metal screeched, stone groaned, and the ground shook like I was in the middle of an earthquake. Frantically, I blinked the sand out of my eyes, finally able to see enough to realize the sanctuary was crashing down around me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I RAN FOR the window, pain exploding over me as I was pelted by chunks of the roof. Then I dove through it right as the walls folded, releasing a thick cloud of crushed stone from the tremendous impact. My knees and arms tore, but I forced myself to keep moving through the rubble. Through the chalklike fog, I saw something dark rush toward me. I raised my arms before realizing I no longer held a gun. Sometime during my mad dash to escape the collapsing sanctuary, I’d dropped it.
I tried to run—and was grabbed before I made it a step. Then I recognized the large body I was pressed to. Felt rough, hot hands race over me, seeking out signs of injury. I hurt everywhere, but the pain faded at the knowledge that Adrian was still alive. I threw my arms around him and, for a blissful second, felt him hug me back with equal vehemence. Then Adrian thrust me behind him fast enough to make my teeth rattle.
“Hondalte!” a voice rang out.
Stop, I mentally translated, recognizing the Demonish word from our time in the realm. The thick cloud dissipated, revealing the cause of the sanctuary’s demise. One of the minions had rammed their truck into the side of the building, taking down the gunfire-weakened walls. What I saw when I peeked around Adrian looked equally ominous.
Half a dozen minions were silhouetted against the vehicles’ headlights. Demetrius stood in the middle, his black hair merging into the shadows that trailed behind him like a cape.
“Adrian, enough,” the demon said in an annoyed voice. “Move aside. I have no wish to hurt you.”
“Sure you don’t,” Adrian mocked. “All those bullets aimed my way were just you trying to say hi.”
Demetrius’s gaze raked over him. “Those were to limit the damage you inflicted on my people, but you, more than anyone, know why we want you alive. In fact, Mayhemium is being punished for not instructing his people to take care with you earlier.”
I hadn’t thought a demon was capable of telling the truth, but right now, I believed Demetrius. For starters, six guns were trained on us, yet at the demon’s command, no one was firing. As for Adrian, blood dripped down him from multiple wounds, staining his clothes and turning his hair auburn, but when I’d held him, he had felt whole. Sad that I was learning to tell the difference between seriously injured and moderately hurt.
“Ah, but if she’s dead, then you don’t need me anymore,” Adrian countered.
Good point, and a very frightening one. I glanced down. We were still on hallowed ground, from the faint luminescence drifting up, so Demetrius couldn’t get to us. Of course, with all the guns pointed our way, he didn’t need to.
“You’re still my son,” Demetrius said quietly. “Give us the Davidian, and I will gladly welcome you home.”
Adrian’s whole body tensed. “Stop calling me that,” he said, each word vibrating with hatred. “And you’re only getting Ivy over my dead body.”
Demetrius sighed, resignation flickering across his pale features. “If you insist on dying for her, so be it.” Then his black eyes gleamed. “I will, however, raise you back up so you can fulfill your destiny.”
Adrian’s breath hissed through his teeth. “You don’t have the power to.”
The demon’s laughter sent shivers of revulsion through me. “All your overdoses, son? I already have. Many times.”
Six guns rose with lethal purpose. Amidst a surge of fear, I also felt sheer resolve take hold of me. I couldn’t save myself, but no one else was dying for me tonight.
I shoved Adrian aside as hard as I could. Whether it was adrenaline or the determination of a last wish, I actually succeeded in knocking him over. Right as his shocked gaze met mine, multiple loud cracks sounded. I tensed, waiting for the pain...and then a cool, familiar voice spoke.
“Is this a bad time?” Zach asked dryly.
Shock froze me with my muscles still bunched and eyes mere slits from the process of squeezing them shut. It took a second before I registered that I was not, in fact, dead. I wasn’t shot, either, unless you counted my leg, but that was from earlier and felt like a flesh wound, anyway.
Bullets were lined up in front of me, though, close enough to reach out and pluck them from the air. They hung as if someone had pressed Pause on a remote control, and I stared at their hollow points in morbid fascination. Then another series of loud cracks sounded.
My firing squad fell in a row, their bodies dissipating into ash as soon as
they touched the ground. Not even their clothes or shoes remained. Only their guns were left, the sand absorbing the impact as the weapons dropped with muffled thuds.
“Archon.” Demetrius’s voice was a barely controlled growl. “You should not be here.”
What do you do when you have a demon staring down an angel while the ashes of dead minions blew between them? You get out of the way, of course.
I slunk sideways, clearing that path of bullets in case they suddenly reactivated. Adrian got up, grasping my arm and moving me toward the shattered sanctuary. Zach didn’t look at either of us. His piercing dark gaze was focused on the demon, whose shadows stretched and grew ominously large behind him.
“You should leave,” Zach stated in a mild tone.
I was in full agreement, but he was talking to Demetrius. The demon let out another growl, his shadows increasing even more. Then they began to spin, forming into multiple funnel clouds that whipped up the sand and caused the cars nearest him to slowly slide and spin.
“The Davidian is mine,” Demetrius hissed.
“Uh, time to go, Adrian,” I said nervously.
“Our cars are smashed,” was his grim response.
“Stop the theatrics, Demetrius,” Zach said, still in that calm tone. “You can’t defeat an officer of the Most High.”
“If that’s what you are,” the demon responded with luxuriant hatred. “I know all the officers, because once, I was one, yet none of them are named Zacchaeus.” Then he cocked his head as if curious. “You could be concealing your identity behind that name and your human shell, but if you are what you claim, why not smite me along with my servants?”
“Those weren’t my orders,” Zach replied indifferently.
Why not? I wanted to yell, but kept backing away with Adrian. We were now even with the ruined sanctuary, the desert spreading out like a blank canvas behind us.
“Orders.” Scorn dripped from Demetrius’s tone. “Don’t you ever weary of those?”
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