Chaos Falls
Page 25
“I’m sorry.”
He gave a dismissive grunt. “I met a demon once. I didn’t kill him. Now he may save the world. Anna told me that. She thought she saw the good in you.” He pulled in a deep breath and offered me his hand. “Truce?” Christian prompted.
Over his shoulder and through the cabin windows, I caught Gem’s stark expression.
Trust had to start somewhere.
Christian smiled a bright, hopeful smile.
Gem’s eyes widened.
Christian’s hand plunged forward, striking lightning fast. I caught his wrist, twisted, and snapped his arm back. The sickening sound of bone cracking accompanied his howl. He dropped the injector. It rolled to a stop on the deck, sunlight glinting against the liquid inside the vial. PC-Eighty.
A snarl bubbled across my lips. “It occurred to me.” Christian bucked. I pulled him close. “Just because some of us can change, doesn’t mean we do. And you haven’t changed, hunter.” I bowed my head, hissing the next words against the curve of his neck. “You were always a killer.”
Gem emerged from inside the cabin. I shook my head, keeping her back.
“You b-broke my fucking arm!” Christian barked.
“Be grateful it’s not your neck.” I shoved him away before the urge to kill could overcome me. I could end him and dump his body into the sea. Nobody would care. But where was the art in that?
The hunter stumbled, caught between Gem and me. She smiled, flashing sharp teeth. He looked toward the coastline, hopeful he could swim that far.
“It’s a long way,” Gem mused. “Especially with a broken arm.”
“You gonna kill me?” He spun back toward me, cradling his broken arm against his chest. “Huh? Murder me like you murdered Anna!”
I plucked the cell from my pocket and tossed it onto the deck at his feet. “You probably don’t remember, but I asked Noah to download the security feed from the night a lesser attacked and killed one of my staff. The night you attacked and caught me. Rosa, that was her name—the woman who died. Did you know that?”
His mouth twisted in disgust. “No, should I?”
“A killer like you, I would have thought you’d take the time to get to know your victims’ names.”
“I didn’t kill this Rosa. I don’t even know who she was.”
“Hmm… then I suppose she was in the wrong place at the wrong time when you unleashed the lesser at the back door of my restaurant.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” His spittle flew.
“It’s all on the security footage, but in the chaos, nobody thought to check for anything suspicious earlier in the evening. Anything like your familiar face driving a panel van to the back door. Why would they look? Being demon, I was always the guilty one.”
He spun again, seeking help from Gem, but he wouldn’t find any sympathy there. Noah peered down from the cabin above, eyes cold.
“Not much work for a demon hunter without demons. Only, you had an unusually high kill rate even after the demon population dwindled. Almost as though you knew where the lessers would attack. A cynic might assume you set those scenes and if you could do that, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to set me up and mail a few pictures to the local police department. A demon like me, worshipped by the masses? I was your ultimate prize, right?”
He quit panting, looked again at Gem as though assessing his odds of escaping, and straightened his back, shrugging off the innocent act. “You always wanted to kill me.” He toed the cell back toward me. “Whatever is on there, it doesn’t matter. You’d make up any shit to fit your story. This isn’t about facts. It’s about revenge. I beat you. I won. I put you in that cage! I own you!”
I clicked my tongue. “Bitch, you got our relationship dynamics all wrong.” I flicked out my hand, releasing claws, and let him see the sharp teeth behind my A-list smile. “When you ran out of demons to kill, you set me up as your trophy prize. Only you didn’t wager on me being different.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re good now? Right.” That smile was all over the place. Nervous, cocky, incredulous. “You said it, like you’re some kind of angel?”
I stalked forward.
“You won’t kill me!” He lifted his good hand, palm out, placating. “You’ve changed. That’s what everyone’s saying. The City of Angels, your city. They all fucking worship you even more now. That’s what you’ve always wanted!” He backed up too far. Gem’s icy grip clamped around his upper arms. He bucked, but Gem held firm. “You can’t hurt me! You’re good now!”
“Oh, I’m good, all right,” I purred. “But I’m not the angel of redemption or mercy…” Six steps brought me nose to nose with the cold-blooded hunter. “I made you a promise.” I freed the feather from my sleeve—the same the king had returned to me—and teased it between my fingers. “Take a guess which one of us deserves to live.”
“I have a daughter…” he whispered, lips wobbling. “Don’t kill me. For her sake. Please…”
Fear gave the air a coppery taste. I wet my lips and trailed the feather down his sweaty cheek. “Angel of Vengeance, how does that sound?” His mouth opened and closed, gasping for air I held back. Leaning in, filling his wide-eyed gaze with my glorious self, I whispered, “I met your daughter. Her mother brought her to me while I was trapped in your cage. She asked why I was sad. She asked me for a feather. I think I might give her this feather. You can make this feather a promise, Christian, or a threat. It’s your choice.”
I released my hold on his air and backed up. Gem let him go and he fell to his knees. She looked up, the snarl on her lips making it clear she would have preferred to yank his heart out of his chest. I winked at her and circled my finger in the air.
Noah revved the boat’s engines and banked back toward shore. Damn, it felt good to be righteous. One might even say it felt divine.
Christian clung to the deck, gasping against fear and pain. “You’re not going to… kill me?” He said it quietly, reverently, because he knew damn well he would have killed me and would likely try again. And again. But only because I allowed the game to continue. He had caught me because I had allowed it. He lived and breathed because I allowed it. And by the look in the hunter’s eyes, he finally understood exactly who he had crossed.
“Not today, darling, but I never say never.” I plucked his shades from the deck chair and slipped them on, diluting the dazzling light from the water. Los Angeles sparkled as we drew closer.
Li’el, restaurateur, Hollywood socialite, the epitome of male perfection. And the Angel of Vengeance. Yes, that would do nicely.
Epilogue
Kar’ak / Torrent
Waves thunder against bare rocks. The Pacific Ocean churns and snarls. Its water is my sanctuary and my kingdom. But this is not the netherworld. I left for reasons I do not fully understand. I left because I couldn’t stay without the angel of ice. It is a man’s foolish need, a mortal’s love. And there is only one place I find solace from its madness—where the rocks meet the sand, where once a pier jutted from the shore but now only its struts remain, thrusting up through the boulders.
She sits on one such strut now, dangling her feet into the water, tantalizingly close yet maddeningly far away. The girl with ice in her eyes. I know her, and every time I am pulled back here, she is waiting.
She waits for the part of me who believes he is part human. I despised him, this figment of my imagination—what my father did, twisting my mind—but now I find the hate I reserved for Torrent is gone. Instead, I feel other things. Human things. He chose to follow the ice angel. Every day, his voice gets louder. And I wonder, who am I, really?
The girl who sits on the rocks and waits has the answer.
A note from Li’el…
The author of this book has made it clear if she discovers any of my notes, she will delete them. She doesn’t understand how a being of my startling magnificence cannot be silenced. She says many things, most of human nonsense. Suc
h as these acknowledgment pages being about her friends and colleagues, people who helped her write this book. A book, by the way, that is all about me. I did all the work. She merely threw a few words onto the page and spun a tale. I saved not one, but two worlds. Therefore, these are my acknowledgments. She can go write a book about herself and pen her acknowledgments there (if only she were that interesting).
Whilst we’re all here, let’s agree to acknowledge that I am wonderful. It need not be said, but there it is, in black and white. So, it must be true. There are many facets to my sparkling personality that didn’t make it onto these pages. I can paint masterpieces, carve art with my claws, and tell a love story through interpretive dance, and I know of thirty ways to kill a scorsi demon and ten more to kill a man. I save puppies from burning buildings too. Really, there are many reasons to love me. I could fill a book with my talents, but the author assured me after the first fifty or so pages, few would care. She’s wrong, but I’ve allowed her to believe she’s right.
Let’s also acknowledge the editor of this fine work, Elizabeth from Arrowhead Editing. It’s a difficult job polishing my magnificence, but she does it with grace and humor. Naturally, I do many, many things with grace and humor, but apparently, humans need to repeatedly hear these things before believing them. Any mistakes in this work are the author’s responsibility. I don’t make mistakes (anymore). And if anyone else would like to polish my generous magnificence, you may find me at the renovated Decadent-I Taverna. Form an orderly line.
Among this odd crew of misfits the author relies upon is the delightful cover artist, Ravven. Clearly, she knows exactly how to capture my good side (all sides are perfect, but some are too painfully stunning and exquisite to grace the constraints of a book cover). I asked that all of me be put on display. Why would anyone not want to witness all my substantial naked glory? But apparently, “advertising filters” do not appreciate the art of the male body (hence why Facebook deemed my beautiful self too hot to advertise). It’s a crime, but I do make leather pants look like a sin. It’s good to be bad.
In addition to these fine people, there is one very fine lady, Marianne Almâs, who would likely be first in line outside Decadent-I, hoarding all my secrets. She has marvelous taste in music (and books, naturally), and she helpfully supplied the name “Reely Nauti” for Torrent’s stolen superyacht.
And last, but not least, let’s take a moment to acknowledge you, my dear reader. Without your emails, your reviews, your tweets and Facebook posts, this book (did I mention it’s all about me?) would not exist. The author sometimes takes some convincing (she foolishly believed the Chaos Series had ended at #2), but your messages of love and support for me won her over. Rest assured, the messages and emails demanding an Akil book have been deleted. Naturally, there are no other demons like me. You’re welcome.
Now, if you enjoyed this book (only this one—any book not about me clearly isn’t as good), please spread the word through reviews. For each star rating, I promise to rescue more kittens from trees. It still counts if I place the kittens in the trees to begin with.
Oh, and remember, I am air and everywhere. Make a wish, tempt me with a deal, and you just might wake to find a single black feather on your pillow.
Li’el,
Angel of Vengeance
Also by Pippa DaCosta
The Veil Series
Wings of Hope ~ The Veil Series Prequel Novella
Beyond The Veil (#1)
Devil May Care (#2)
Darkest Before Dawn (#3)
Drowning In The Dark (#4)
Ties That Bind (#5)
Get your free e-copy of ‘Wings Of Hope’ by signing up to Pippa’s mailing list, here.
Chaos Rises
Chaos Rises (#1)
Chaos Unleashed (#2)
Chaos Falls (#3)
Soul Eater
Hidden Blade (#1)
Witches’ Bane (#2)
See No Evil (#3)
Scorpion Trap (#4)
Serpent’s Game (#5)
Edge of Forever (#6)
The 1000 Revolution
#1: Betrayal
#2: Escape
#3: Trapped
#4: Trust
New Adult Urban Fantasy
City Of Fae, London Fae #1
City of Shadows, London Fae #2
About the Author
Born in Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England where she grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on the other, she draws from a patchwork of ancestry and uses it as the inspiration for her writing. Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon & Cornwall border.
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www.pippadacosta.com
pippa@pippadacosta.com