by Susan Illene
“Even if he proves himself to you by transforming into a demon slayer?”
He worked his jaw. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what people saw in the guardian, but he would try under those conditions. Eli was convinced that Kerbasi was the largest part of Bartol’s problem that needed to be resolved. If it would help his relationship with his mate and child, he would at least give it a chance. “We’ll see.”
“It’s getting late,” Melena said, glancing toward the window.
It didn’t get dark until around eleven at night this time of year, so the sun was still shining outside, but it was nearly eight in the evening. Bartol and Cori were both exhausted and had let the guests know they shouldn’t stay too long. Joy had prepared a large dinner, and they’d already had their fill of food. Others had stopped by, including Derrick, Asher and his family with their new baby, as well as Micah and Olivia. All the others had left already.
While the sensor said goodbye to Cori, Lucas walked up to Bartol. “Congratulations with the baby. I hope it all works out and you find happiness.”
“You’re a good friend,” he said, reaching out to shake the nephilim’s hand.
Lucas lifted his brows in surprise before taking Bartol’s hand. It still bothered him to allow others aside from Sybil and Cori to touch him. The contact made his skin crawl, but each time Bartol allowed it, he found it irritated him a little less. Perhaps with time, he would get over it.
As Melena and Lucas were leaving, Raguel came down the stairs, holding Sybil. “She is hungry.”
Cori rushed over to their daughter. “I’ve got her.”
The archangel took one last look at the baby, love shining in his eyes. “I never thought I would have this experience. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Cori said, gently taking the child from him. “I’m glad you could be here to see her.”
“As am I.”
He moved to Bartol next. “I will speak with Remiel about transforming the guardian. Hopefully, they will agree, and we can arrange something soon.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Keep me informed.”
After seeing the guests out, Bartol headed up the stairs to find Cori sitting on the bed, breastfeeding Sybil. She stared at the child with her warm, hazel eyes. “She’s so beautiful. I keep thinking this is a dream that I’ll wake up from any moment, and she’ll be gone.”
“No.” Bartol sat at the edge of the bed next to her. “Our daughter is real and you’re an amazing mother.”
“You think so?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Kerbasi.” Cori rubbed a gentle hand over Sybil’s tufts of brown hair. “But I knew how you’d react.”
“I’d prefer if you not keep things like that from me in the future.” It bothered him that she’d try hiding something of that nature from him when he had a right to know, yet he also recognized he wasn’t an easy man to handle. There was enough stress with a new baby without adding more.
“I promise.”
The baby was dozing off in Cori’s lap and unlatched from her breast. Bartol leaned over and gently took Sybil into his arms. As carefully as possible, he carried her over to the bassinet he’d made for her by hand. It was constructed of walnut with cutouts of stars in the headboard, and he’d carved her name on the footboard in a flowing script. For a minute, he rocked her until she fell into a deep sleep. It made him proud that she enjoyed her new bed.
When he and Tormod had gone shopping for baby items, he’d gotten the idea to craft it. With his woodworking skills, he could make one himself that was more luxurious than any he’d found in the stores—and for much less money. It had taken a few late nights, but he’d finished in time. Before Cori returned to their home with Sybil, he had transferred it from his workshop to the master bedroom. She’d cried when she’d found it there.
Bartol smiled down at the sleeping infant. “I may be biased, but she truly is beautiful.”
“You won’t get any argument from me there,” Cori said softly.
Once he was certain the baby would not wake, he moved back over to the bed. The doctor said his mate would need a week or so to heal from pregnancy and childbirth, but that her recovery time would be swifter than that of a human. For now, he could at least hold Cori. They’d developed a routine since the day she’d agreed to marry him. She would lay on her side, and he would press his chest against her back and wrap an arm around her. It wasn’t easy at first, but Bartol was starting to find comfort in their closeness. He had his mate in his arms, and that meant the world to him.
Chapter 25
Bartol
Bartol shifted from foot to foot, impatient and wary. He was in Russia at another of the nerou training facilities—one he’d hoped never to visit again. Zoe was there. He’d had no desire to see the manipulative woman again, and especially not when he’d rather be with his newborn daughter, but he’d had little choice.
After losing so many nerou in Alaska to the demon attack, Jeriel wasn’t taking chances. He’d waited a week before holding the next graduation, allowing time for a memorial service and to bolster defenses, but the ceremonies had to be completed before the students could move on to their first postings.
The trainees were currently walking the stage one by one, and Bartol was keeping a watchful eye all around them. As of yet, the graduation had gone smoothly. They had nephilim acting as the perimeter guard who would alert them if anything demonic came near the fence. Extra angels were there as well, positioned around the stage. Bartol, his father, and Tormod were behind the seated students and guests. At a moment’s notice, they could jump into the fray should a battle break out.
Raguel stood stiff and solid. He had become more secretive than ever, unwilling to discuss anything related to the demons other than strategies about how to fight them. He’d disappeared for most of the previous day. When he’d returned, he would only say that the archangels had agreed to convert Kerbasi into a demon slayer soon. Bartol doubted that was the only topic of conversation that had come up given such a long absence, but his father would reveal no more on what had occurred during his trip to Heaven.
Zoe sauntered up to join them, stopping close to Bartol as if they were friends. “I can’t believe my daughter didn’t let me attend her graduation. I’ve missed so many milestones in her life, but that was an especially big moment for her. She should have wanted me there.”
She sniffed and dabbed at a tear in her eye.
“This surprises you?” Bartol arched a brow. “Rebecca sees you for what you really are, thankfully.”
“I’m trying to prove myself to her,” Zoe said, lips pouting.
The nephilim woman had long, strawberry-blond hair, fair skin with a golden tint, and a lithe body that had just enough curves to turn most men’s heads—though not his. The outside of her was a facade for the manipulative, self-centered person inside. When they were in Russia the last time, she’d refused to give them critical information about the demons without seeing her daughter first. She never put anyone before her own selfish needs, and he doubted it would ever change.
“I’ve yet to see the proof of that myself,” he replied drolly. “You are as egotistical as ever.”
She sniffed. “Well, I am trying to be better if you all would give me a chance.”
“Why should we?”
“If the demons attack,” she began, then ducked her head so that he couldn’t see her golden eyes. “You won’t have any doubt of my commitment to doing whatever it takes.”
Bartol would have to see it to believe it.
Tormod let out an annoyed sigh—no fan of Zoe himself. “Do you think the demons will strike again?”
Raguel kept his gaze trained on the stage ahead. “It is a distinct possibility.”
“Will you ever tell us why they’re doing this?” Bartol asked.
“Soon.”
That was all he ever gave them as a response lately.
“This is more boring than the last graduation,” Tormod said, toeing the grass with his boot. “I’m glad it’s almost over.”
In fact, they were calling up the final few students. Bartol kept an especially close watch since this was near the point when the demons had attacked in Alaska, if one didn’t count his marriage proposal to Cori. The last nerou crossed the stage and received their scroll certificate. He clapped his hands with the audience as everyone congratulated the students, still keeping an eye on the perimeter fence. The other nephilim, including Lucas and Micah, were a short distance beyond it, but he couldn’t see them from his vantage point. There were too many trees.
“Please,” Jeriel called from the stage. “Join us for refreshments at the tent.”
They’d set up a large, open canopy with tables underneath filled with food and drinks. In Alaska, they’d had the same, but everything had been destroyed in the demon attack before they’d tasted any of it—not that it mattered, considering everything else that had occurred.
Bartol still mourned the ten nerou who’d died that day. He hadn’t been close to any of them, but he’d hated to see their lives snuffed out before they even began. For those who’d had family there, it was even more tragic. The memorial service was one of the most heartbreaking he’d ever attended, and that was saying something for a man his age. Nephilim parents had cried, students broke down at the loss of their long-time friends, and there were many speeches given in remembrance. It took most of the day, but by the end, Bartol felt like he knew most of the victims.
He sucked in a breath and shook himself out of the memory. The guests and nerou graduates made their way over to the tent, not quite as joyful as he’d expected, but he heard whispers among some students as they discussed the last ceremony. Though they might have been away from their brethren for more than a year, all the hybrids had grown up together in Purgatory. They couldn’t just forget their friends’ deaths this soon, or that they might be next. The parents present today were also worried about their children. No one wanted a repeat.
It was quiet and tense for the first few minutes, but then upbeat music began playing from a stereo and speakers set up next to the stage. A few people cracked smiles and livelier conversations began. This group was proud to finally graduate, and rightfully so, but they’d been holding back their elation.
Bartol accepted a cup of lemonade from one of the nerou. He and the others were still standing guard, apart from the celebration, but as time went on with no disturbances, it was tempting to try the food. None of them had been given time to eat that day.
“They better save some cake for us,” Tormod grumbled.
Bartol put a hand on the young man’s shoulder, relieved it didn’t bother him as much to touch another person as it once did. “Be patient.”
Raguel tensed. “There’s something out there in the…”
Lucas flashed before them. “The demons are here!”
Before anyone could respond to him, the nephilim disappeared in another flash of light. Bartol wanted to follow him to the woods, but it was his job to stay close to the nerou and kill the demons that got near them. The angels and other nephilim would do the fighting, and his father would slay the attackers outside the perimeter.
“Good luck, son,” Raguel said before flashing away.
Tormod rubbed his hands together in glee. “Can I go out there as well?”
“No,” Bartol replied. “You stay with me.”
The demon nerou sighed. “I’d rather be fighting with the others right now.”
“Of course, you would, but I’m certain you’ll get your turn soon enough.”
The familiar noises of battle rang through the trees a few hundred meters away. They’d held the ceremony in the evening this time, and as the sun began to set, flashes of light lit up the nearby woods as angels used their smiting powers. Swords also clashed, growls and snarls sounded, and a large boom punched through the air. The shockwave of it shot straight through Bartol, and the ground rattled beneath his feet. He searched the area around them, unable to locate the source.
“What was that?” Tormod asked, bewildered.
“I have no idea.”
The next thing they knew, a plume of smoke rose from a point just inside the fence line a hundred feet away. Pungent magic, unlike anything he’d ever felt before crackled through the air. A large demon that had to be at least eight feet tall appeared there with black horns on the top of its head, blood-red skin, and a long, pointy tail. It was the stuff of nightmares, and by the looks of it, it had to be one of the princes of Hell. Bartol cursed. This was not going to be an easy fight, but if they didn’t stop the demon, it could kill nearly all of them with little effort. Princes were supremely powerful, capable of slaying archangels in single combat.
He ran for the creature.
Tormod followed closely behind. “Finally, something worth fighting!”
The boy had no idea what he was getting himself into, and there was no time to explain. Bartol took one side of the demon while the nerou took the other. They struck their swords into red flesh, their blades bouncing off their target’s skin without leaving a scratch. The demon laughed at them, making a throaty, evil sound. Then he punched Tormod in the face. The nerou sailed through the air, smashing against the side of the headquarters building and punching a human-sized hole through the front wall. Shards of brick and timber rained down to bury him. Before Bartol could check to see if he was okay, the prince came after him next. He had to use every bit of fancy footwork he’d ever learned through the centuries to keep from getting ripped by the demon’s claws. They cut through the air, sharp and deadly. The tip of one talon grazed the front of Bartol’s shirt, slicing through it cleanly so that the bottom half drooped and left his stomach exposed.
“You’re dead, nephilim,” the demon said in a deep voice.
Zoe appeared, strawberry blond hair loose and flying as she held up a shining blade. “Why don’t you try me instead?”
What was the crazy woman doing? If anyone believed in self-preservation more than Kerbasi, it was her. She avoided fights as much as possible, preferring to strategize battles from afar and let everyone else risk their lives.
The demon grabbed her sword by the blade and jerked it from her. If his palm was cut, he showed no signs of pain or injury. He tossed her weapon aside. Zoe backed away, but he shot forward and picked her up by the throat. His talons dug deep, drawing blood that ran down her neck to the pink bodice she wore. She dangled there with her feet flailing two feet above the ground. Her gaze shot to Bartol, and she dragged in a breath.
“Get him, you fool,” she wheezed.
Before the prince could react, Bartol brought his blade down on the demon’s tail. It crunched, the sharp edge managing to penetrate all the way through. He’d cut the tail in half, getting rid of the pointy end that could whip around and tear through their bodies.
The prince roared, dropping Zoe like a sack of cement. He swung around to face Bartol, eyes glowing a fierce red. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Bartol swung his sword in a high arc and slashed the demon across the cheek. He’d noted the skin was thinner there and potentially more vulnerable. Black blood ran down the prince’s face, but the cut hardly appeared to be much deeper than a scratch. In moments, the wound knitted closed.
The demon swung his meaty fist, striking Bartol in the face. If a speeding train had hit him, it couldn’t have hurt worse. His jaw bone disintegrated as if made of clay. He flew backward, landed on his rear end, then slid across the ground for a dozen feet. Stars danced before his eyes. He gingerly touched his face and found the lower half was little more than mush. In all his years, he’d never been wounded that severely or that fast. He’d heard tales of demon princes and their incredible fighting abilities, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.
Through a haze, he caught Zoe slowly rising to her feet to face their opponent alone and unarmed. She lifted her delicate hands and let out sma
ll zaps of electricity, attempting to smite the demon. Nephilim didn’t have the kind of wattage angels did, so their strikes were weaker and less effective. The woman was crazy to have even bothered.
The demon let out a bark of laughter. “Nice try, little girl. You look tasty!”
“I’d be poison to you, you bastard,” she said, lifting her chin.
What was she doing? Surely she wasn’t buying Bartol time to recover?
The prince lifted his large hand and struck out with his claws. Zoe dodged to the right, but she didn’t go far enough. The demon ran the tips of his dagger-like talons across her cheeks and neck. She screamed as blood spurted down her body, further soaking her lace bodice and khaki pants. She fell to her knees, her right hand pressed to her wounds.
“You’ll die today,” she vowed, deadly serious.
The prince bellowed out a laugh. “You are a silly woman with silly thoughts.”
“No.” She shook her head. “As long as I play my part, you won’t win.”
Bartol couldn’t imagine what she meant by that. He flashed behind the demon and leaped onto its back. The pain in his jaw was brutal, but he had to ignore it. If he couldn’t injure the damn creature, he had to at least try extracting its essence. It wasn’t inhabiting a human body, so he wasn’t sure how it would work to kill it in its natural form, but Bartol saw no other way to take it down. People were going to die if they didn’t stop the prince soon.
Wrapping his arms tightly around the demon’s throat and his legs around its waist, he took a deep breath and pulled on his target’s energy with all his might. It was like trying to penetrate through tough armor with a toothpick. But to his relief, it only took a few moments to locate a weak point in the throat. A trickle of essence began to flow into him. He held on tightly as the prince bucked and spun, attempting to shake Bartol off of him. The wild ride jarred his wounds and made the extraction that much more difficult. With each jerk, the flow was interrupted. Bartol had to concentrate to retain what little energy he’d pulled so far and not let the demon have it back again. From experience, he knew he’d need to draw out at least half before his opponent began to weaken. He was a long way from that point.