Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, the agony strafing him too much to bear.

  “No!” Slumping against the tunnel wall, Bane clutched his chest as if he had a beating heart to piece together. Actually, he did. Unfortunately, it was topside and slowing to an erratic thud.

  His gaze lifted to the ceiling. She was there, right above his head. He pushed off the wall and clawed at the roof of the tunnel. Dirt rained. He didn’t stop until blood ran down his arms. Not his black, acidic blood. Red, human blood smeared his hands.

  And that smell! Heaven and sunlight. Even if he had forgotten it after millennia away, he would have remembered this particular scent—because he’d basked in its aura only a few days ago.

  Bane reached through the remaining barrier separating them, wrapped his arms around soft flesh, and pulled. The ceiling gave way. Everything came tumbling down, into the tunnel: Dirt, Amaya, sunlight—and a Spaun.

  27

  A bloody, barely breathing Amaya lay at Bane’s feet.

  A Spaun crouched a few feet away.

  Sunlight streamed through the roof of the tunnel, separating Bane from his target.

  “UnHallowed,” it spat. The Spaun giggled, feeling safe on the other side of the light, even though the end of the tunnel was at its back.

  Thunder rolled in the distance. The once bright, blue sky darkened and rain pelted the landscape above their heads with a heavy drumbeat. A beaming shit-eating grin stretched across Bane’s face in anticipation of bathing in Spaun blood. Amaya’s hand touched Bane’s ankle. He dare not break eye contact, but her touch quelled part of his rage, until she coughed, spewed blood, and grunted wetly, “Destroy it.”

  Bane leaped over her, his twin blades appearing in his hands at his furious summon. The Spaun dashed for the opening. Bane slashed a four-inch gash in the demon’s abdomen. No organs spilled out because the demon didn’t have any, though something oily and viscous splashed on the tunnel floor and walls. A high-pitched screech came from the Spaun and he hauled ass out of the hole. Bane went to follow when Amaya’s groan halted him.

  He ran to her and, as gently as possible, scooped her into his arms. “B-Bane.” She touched his cheek and he stared into her pain filled eyes.

  “No,” he snarled when she went limp. “Hospital. I have to get you to a hospital.” The rain stopped as quickly as it started and sunlight peaked through the opening. Without hesitation, the shadows swarmed over them. He swept through the conduits and exited in a staircase of the nearest hospital.

  “Help her!” he demanded of the first medical personnel he came across when he carried her into the emergency department. The medical staff froze instead of helping. Bane caught his reflection in a sliding glass door and understood why. Blood and greenish ooze covered him and Amaya. Also, his eyes were fully red and blazing with an unholy intensity.

  He turned his gaze on the staff and planted an image of what he would do to each one of them, along with the compulsion to obey him. “Save her life, or forfeit your own.”

  “Room three is open. We’ll take her in there.” A doctor led the way with a team of personnel following.

  Bane placed her on the stretcher. He smoothed her matted hair away from her face, aware of his trembling hand. “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to fix you.”

  “Sir, you’ve got to move out of the way,” a doctor said.

  He nodded, but found he couldn’t obey until he said one more thing. “Don’t you die on me.” A nurse touched his elbow and he allowed himself to be led outside of the room. He didn’t go far, just to the hallway where he watched them cut her clothes away, revealing the gouges on her abdomen.

  “Good God! What happened to her?” a different nurse whispered.

  “She was attacked,” Bane supplied.

  “By what? A velociraptor?” the same nurse whispered.

  No. something worse.

  “Save. Her,” was Bane’s reply.

  They connected machines to her body as the doctor shouted for someone to get blood as he slipped on a pair of gloves and probed the gouges.

  Bane tensed, torn between ripping the doctor away and letting him do his job. Never had he been more impotent and hollow. Scarla would’ve healed by now. Her UnHallowed half didn’t make her immortal, but it damn sure made her hard to kill. Amaya was the same, yet vastly different. He hadn’t pieced it all together, until now.

  Amaya wasn’t just half angel. She was half archangel. The answer to the question posed by the UnHallowed was in her spilled blood. The scent of it was unmistakable, especially when that scent had recently filled Bane’s nostrils in Braile’s burial chamber. Braile, Chancellor of the Celestial Army, the archangel every warrior emulated in principles and deeds, had broken a cardinal rule and fathered a child. It was unimaginable that someone with his integrity would. Love between angels wasn’t uncommon, though unrequited. Duty was the code they lived by. Love between an angel and a human…it had happened to lesser angels. Comfort angels, watcher angels, who interacted daily with humans, where archangels didn’t. Interaction between archangels and humans were, at best, minimal.

  Who was the woman that had captured Braile’s heart for him to give up Heaven? No human was worth that. Yet, Amaya was here, and Bane was grateful, regardless of how she came to be.

  Her existence had to be the reason why Braile was killed, and Michael had to be the one who did it. Only that bastard was coldhearted enough to slay Braile. And that meant Gideon—the UnHallowed who had closed the Cruor—hadn’t killed the chancellor. But if this were true about Michael killing Braile, why was Amaya allowed to live? Why did he allow an abomination to continue to exist? He wouldn’t have. He would have slain her without reservation.

  Another thought struck Bane. One so stunning it knocked him off his feet. He had to grip the sliding glass door to keep from landing on his face. What if neither Michael nor Gideon had killed Braile?

  Taige lay on the grass, a few feet away from the opening that the UnHallowed had created. Bathed in sunlight, he waited for his body to knit back together. Today had started on a high and devolved into a clusterfuck, with him in pieces in a fucking field in the stronghold of an UnHallowed. Well at least he had an answer to his missing Darklings.

  Also, he had his answer to why the female smelled like both Heaven and Hell. The UnHallowed was her protector. An odd coupling since she was a Halfling. Not just any Halfling. She was the offspring of an archangel, and exactly what he needed to reopen the Cruor—which, by the energy pulsing from the hole in the ground—was somewhere below in that tunnel. Close.

  He couldn’t sense the UnHallowed anymore. Excellent. Once his strength returned he would find the portal and take it. Afterward, he would track down that bitch and—

  The air shimmered, vibrating with a subtle hum, then turned silvery, and streaked with rainbow colors in a spherical pattern. A dimensional pocket was about to open. He hoped it was Aiden. Taige had informed him of his destination after leaving Malphas in Vegas. The two of them relocating the Cruor would be easier than himself alone, especially in his current state.

  Stifling a groan, he shifted back to his human form. Shirtless, hand pressed to his abdomen, he forced himself into a seated position. Though not perfect, it was better than greeting his co-conspirator flat on his back. Weakness—of any kind—was to be exploited if found in another, and eradicated if found in oneself. Never coddled.

  The vibration ceased yet the spatial distortion remained. Malphas stepped from the pocket. The blond highlights in his brown hair glinted in the sunlight as he surveyed his surroundings. It only took five seconds for his head to snap around and his gaze to latch onto Taige.

  Taige didn’t run. The time for running had passed. He clutched his abdomen and gathered his strength.

  Malphas halted, his attention diverted to the opening in the ground. “The Cruor. So, this is where it lays,” he murmured, and his gaze shifted back to Taige. His head canted to the side with false concern. “That looks painf
ul. Whom should I kill or thank for placing you in this condition?”

  No use lying. “UnHallowed.”

  Malphas’s eyebrows shot up and he nodded. “You agile bastard. You got away from an UnHallowed. I am suitably impressed.” He angled his face to the sky and basked in the sun as if he didn’t get enough in Vegas. “So, how long have you planned this coup d’état?”

  Beneath Taige’s hand, his wound slowly knit together. Pain lanced his guts. A few more minutes and he’d be healed enough to escape. He didn’t change his pained expression. “The day greed became your deity.”

  With a gentle scoff, a wry grin twisted Malphas’s mouth. “Three centuries. Not too long. And how long has the portal been here? I haven’t sensed it in six months.”

  “Because you didn’t care,” Taige snarled.

  “Correct. I didn’t. The reason I didn’t—”

  “Because you’re a self-serving greedy bastard.”

  A blinding grin spread across his features. “Yes. I am. Is that why you did this? Hid this from me? Were you hoping this action would serve some misguided form of comeuppance?” He chuckled as if the idea was absurd.

  Taige shook his head. “I did this because you do not deserve to be free while my true lord remains trapped in Hell. You promised to free the other Demoni and for three centuries you’ve fucked and lined your pockets! Why?”

  “I lied.” Malphas gave a careless shrug. “I’m a demon. It’s what we do.” He moved closer to the opening. “Has it been here all this time? Buried here? Its signature blocked. How did you find it?”

  No point not telling him when he knew almost everything. “When the Darklings stopped coming, I hunted for it. When that proved fruitless, I hunted for a being powerful enough to shield it. Only one being fit the bill.”

  “An archangel,” Malphas filled in. “How did they place it in stasis? Whom did they sacrifice? Which one of the noble Council of Archangels allowed their celestial body to be drained?”

  “What does it matter?

  Malphas’s features morphed into something not quite human. “It matters to me.” He shifted back to normal in an instant when he regained controlled of his emotions. “You’ve forced my hand. I would’ve been content to never know the Cruor was here, or content to know it was here, and leave it. Let whomever guarding it keep that responsibility. You forced my hand.” The ground trembled from his anger. “For that I will show you no mercy.”

  “I never expected you would.” Taige tensed.

  “All of this planning and you have failed.” Malphas raked Taige with a scornful glance. “Relax. I will retrieve the Cruor, after I’ve dealt with you.”

  With a burst of energy Taige couldn’t afford, he threw himself into the dimensional portal with Malphas’s laugh following him.

  “Laugh while you can,” Taige murmured and touched the inner layer of the portal, gaining control. Energy swirled around him. Its properties healed his wounds. He had a final glimpse of Malphas, jumping into the tunnel, then Taige was gone, but not far. He licked his fingers, his grin darkly possessive. Malphas may have won this skirmish and claimed the Cruor, but the key to winning the war resided inside a Halfling. Whoever controlled the Halfling, controlled Heaven, and Hell.

  And that would be him.

  28

  Daghony stepped from the shadows, behind him, a spacious basement, in front of him, a recently carved tunnel. His wings tight to his body, his disgrace simmered and his skin shrunk two sizes from the foul energy pulsing through the air. Energy so familiar…it called to him, like a passionate lover seeking to reignite their affair. At first, he hated the darkness, then he hated that he loved it. Entering Hell had cost him everything, leaving Hell had cost him just as much.

  He strode through the tunnel, his steps sure as he followed the path created by Bane. His residual energy was layered beneath that of the Cruor and in the surrounding ground, along with Michael’s. Three distinct energy patterns. What had Bane gotten himself involved in?

  Another energy pattern filtered to him, as familiar as the Cruor. A cave-in blocked his path. With a flick of his wrist, the path cleared, showing him two things—the Cruor half embedded in the tunnel wall, and the last thing he’d expected to see.

  “Malphas,” Daghony spat. Time hadn’t changed the Demoni Lord since their previous encounter. Same brownish hair, and similar colored eyes. Same stocky build. Clean shaven when he was once bearded. No wings, though that didn’t mean anything when he could have shielded them.

  A slow smile stretched Malphas’s face as his eyes turned to polished onyx. His arms opened in welcome. “Brother, it’s been too long.”

  “I am not, nor have I ever been, your brother.” Daghony prepared to strike.

  “You and I were created at the same time. If not brothers, then what are we?”

  “Enemies until time ends.” Would Malphas stay and fight, or flee as he was wont to do in Hell? Subterfuge was the demon’s MO. Also, manipulation and turning allies against each other for his benefit. Malphas would do any and everything to advance his agenda. If Malphas thought attacking would give him an edge, then he would attack, otherwise he’d save his own hide.

  Malphas chuckled. “You’ve become a bit dramatic on this side of Hell. I’m amazed at the change in temperament and appearance.”

  Daghony took in the suit, diamond stick pin, and matching cufflinks. “I could say the same thing about you.” Malphas had cleaned up well. Affluence oozed from him. No human would take him for a denizen of Hell.

  He nodded once. “Yes. I’ve done quite well here, and I do enjoy my finery.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable. He adjusted the tie at his throat.

  Daghony called his sword to his palm. He clutched ordinary steel in his hand, not the empyreal sword gifted to angels of the warrior class or higher. The blade in his hand couldn’t incinerate a demon with the slightest touch; however, its razor’s edge would slice Malphas’s head off in one clean swipe. Bloodier, yet equally effective.

  “It was good seeing you, Daghony. I know you won’t see my actions as anything except self-serving, and you would be correct. But it is also altruistic. I’m taking the Cruor.”

  Daghony glanced at the pale disk structure embedded in the wall behind Malphas. It was smaller than Daghony remembered with a shiny surface that resembled a Lichtenberg figure—smooth glass on the surface, trapped lightning inside.

  “Relieving you of the burden the Cruor represents is a blessing you’ll eventually realize.” He held up a hand. “And before you expound on my many deficiencies, trust me, on this day, I am the lesser of evils.”

  Before Daghony could move, a dimensional pocket expanded around Malphas and the Cruor. Both were gone before he reached them.

  “Was that who I think it was?” Kushiél’s voice came from the rear of the tunnel.

  “Don’t you remember his stench?” Chay’s voice came next.

  “I certainly do,” Tahariél said.

  Good. They’re all here. No time wasted tracking them down.

  “The Cruor. You let Malphas take it.” Razuel, formerly the Keeper of God’s Secrets, stood beside Tahariél. Half in the shadows, Raz was barely visible at the mouth of the tunnel.

  Damn. Who else had felt the return of the corrosive effects the portal projected and came running? Hopefully it was only the UnHallowed and Malphas, and not all the other escapees from Hell.

  “Let? Is that an accusation?” Daghony pushed past Kush, and Chay returned to the basement as the shadows revealed Rimmon, Gadreel, Zedekiél, and Ioath. The former Archangel of Storms, Weapons, Mercy, and Demons filled the basement. Along with Tahariél, the new arrivals lined up in a semi-circle firing squad.

  So they did sense the virulence leeching off the Cruor. The energy reminded all of a place they would do anything not to return.

  Chay and Kush stood on opposite sides of Daghony. Three against five.

  Tahariél sauntered over to lean on the wall next to Chay. In bold white letters
, his gray tee shirt read, KINDA CARE. KINDA DON’T. Seemed today he leaned toward the former instead of his usual latter.

  Four against five. Daghony rested his sword and leaned on the hilt.

  “Let was a statement. Not an accusation.” Razuel stayed in his corner, his dark gaze skimmed over everyone, seeking for an angle to sway the situation in his favor or glean information for later use. He was the only one of them who could still hear the truth when spoken.

  “This place reeks of Bane and the Cruor. How did he manage to keep this from us?” With his thumb and forefinger, Rimmon smoothed his blond mustache and goatee, then he adjusted the sleeves on his suit, hiding the metal cuffs on his wrists.

  Zedekiél pulled a blunt from the pocket of his shirt and a lighter from his rear pocket. He took his time lighting the end and taking that first long drag. Only then did he step in front of Daghony. Same height and build, but where Daghony was blond with close-cropped hair and gray wings, Zed’s dark matted hair reached past his shoulders and he had no wings. His full beard and worn clothing made him appear homeless, which was where he spent most of his time, on the streets, hiding in plain sight. “Are we really wasting time on Bane when Malphas is on this side of Hell?”

  “I’m as surprised as you are to see Malphas here,” Daghony answered.

  Shadows licked up Razuel’s body and cracked, making a whip-like sound as he murmured low, “He has the Cruor.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Gideon closed it,” Chay spoke around a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

  Ioath crossed to the mouth of the tunnel. “Has no one caught the other scent flavoring the air?” The former Archangel of Demons had no problem tracking the bastards, when he chose to. “I sense Bane’s energy, smell a Spaun, and the spilled grace of an archangel.” He took the time to glare at Kush, Daghony, Tahariél, and lastly Chay. “Someone had better start talking.”