The Uprising: A Companion Novel (The Hunt Book 5)

by Liz Meldon

  She was determined to do this.

  Malachi squared his shoulders, leaning back against the door. If she thought she had invented stubbornness, the fetching vixen was sorely mistaken.

  “Look, we don’t know what Serafino has up his sleeve,” Ella insisted, pointing at him with her phone like that made a difference—like she had a weapon at her disposal. “I mean, where is everyone? It’s almost nine. They’ve been gone for ages. No one’s back yet and something could have happened—”

  “So, you want to confront him.” Malachi paused, the slight cock of his head adding a questioning end to his statement. Ella shifted her weight back and forth, frowning, and then gave a slow, tentative nod. Good. He could work with a thirst for vengeance, but not surrender. “I understand. You would do anything for your family. So would I.”

  “Well, okay…” She gestured at the door, waving him aside. “You get it, then.”

  Of course he did. Malachi understood all too well the lengths one would endure to protect one’s family, but submission wasn’t an option.

  Actually…

  No.

  Maybe it was the option.

  “Fine,” he said curtly just as she opened her mouth, cutting off whatever argument she had waiting in the wings. Ella faltered, lips snapping shut as Malachi pushed off the door and readjusted the towel hanging low around his hips. “We’ll confront the piece of filth, but we’ll do it together—and with purpose.”

  “And what purpose did you have in mind?” She trailed after him as he marched toward the kitchen. “Did you think I was going to just, what, walk in there blind?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Because I have a plan.”

  “Sure.”

  “Like, I know I’m no match for him physically—”

  “Not quite.”

  “But…” Ella tiptoed along, frowning. “But I could have found a way to make him stop threatening you guys, to keep you safe. I could have reasoned with him. Bargained. I… I’m not useless. I could have done something.”

  Yes, done something by giving in to the gnat’s beyond irritating obsession with her. Ha. Like Malachi would ever entertain that. Still, he appreciated her gumption.

  “Yes, dearest, I’m sure you could have.” Malachi yanked the large knife out of the table, finding it right where he’d left it earlier. When he faced her again, he wore a punishing smile, the kind that made his inner demon sing. “But Serafino can’t threaten your loved ones if he’s dead.”

  Her gaze slid down to the blade in his hand, and for a moment, Malachi thought she might refuse him…

  Until she smiled.

  Cruelly.

  A smile to match his own. No surrender. No submission. Wearing her savagery out in the open, Ella looked every inch a queen.

  A queen of destruction.

  A queen of chaos.

  A queen of his heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Zachariah?”

  Severus exhaled a long, tense breath as Moira tapped her knuckles on the angel’s front door, Alaric and Cordelia loitering on either side. Fifteen minutes to go until this “uprising” was supposed to kick off, but already the city buzzed with a strange energy.

  Situated next to an active hell-gate, Farrow’s Hollow already had a distinct hum to it, one that all supernatural beings sensed a mile away. Humans could feel it on some level as well; deep down, they knew something was different about the city, but without any knowledge of the demons, angels, and whatever the fuck else living alongside them, they would never understand why.

  All that could change tonight, of course. It had taken them far longer than it should have to reach Zachariah’s apartment complex across the downtown core. Beyond the business district where Severus had once entertained many of his clients at upscale hotels, just skirting the entertainment district, overloaded with bars and restaurants and theaters, the angel’s building should have taken them a tight twelve minutes to reach, maybe twenty with traffic.

  Instead, the trip had dragged on for a solid half hour courtesy of all the barricaded roads. While there were no police out on the wintry evening, certainly no construction crews, enormous cement barriers blocked side streets and a few main avenues alike.

  Not a good sign.

  On top of that, the internet was still down and no one in their group had been able to place a call. Even the buzzer box in the lobby of Zachariah’s building hadn’t connected to any of the units, and they’d been forced to stand there in the little glass box at the front doors, waiting for someone with a key to either exit or enter so they could access the building. Cordelia would have been all too happy to blast that glass walls to bits, littering the lobby with debris, but the purpose of their little excursion was to minimize damage, not add to it.

  “I don’t hear anything inside,” Alaric mused, leaning in closer to the door and frowning. “No TV. No radio.”

  “Not taking a nap, is he?” Severus asked, but he already knew the answer. The more Moira’s angelic side had presented itself over the last year, the fewer hours of sleep she needed; he was starting to suspect full angels needed no sleep at all. His little hybrid nibbled her pale lower lip for a moment, white brows furrowed, and then shook her head.

  “No. Probably not. He’d hear us even if he was.”

  “I could remove the door,” Cordelia offered, popping off one of her lace gloves. Moira knocked again, situating herself in front of Severus’s witchy cousin with a soft clearing of her throat.

  “Please don’t do anything to his door.”

  “Maybe they are already aware of the problem,” Severus offered, ignoring Cordelia’s disappointed pout as she slipped her glove back on. “Maybe he isn’t home because he’s already gone to Seraphim Securities.”

  After all, there was very little that went on in this city without the local angel garrison’s knowledge. Still, Serafino’s threats had necessitated this visit, whether Severus liked it or not, and he had a feeling Moira wouldn’t rest until she was sure someone out there was doing everything necessary to protect her home.

  Moira hastily checked her phone, then shoved it back in her purse with a huff. “Still no signal.” She glanced up at him almost shyly. “Do you think we should just, you know, go to Seraphim Securities?”

  The thought made his insides knot painfully, and his eyes snapped to black before he could stop them. Shaking his head, Severus turned away and reeled his panicked inner demon back in.

  “Moira and I can go inside the building,” Alaric offered, cutting him off before Severus could protest his direct involvement with that fucking prison. “Somebody has to be working. They don’t all leave at the end of the day.”

  “And I can use the elevator,” Moira said, hoisting up a thin, pale finger, her angelic blood the key to making the lift operate inside that infernal building. “So? Plan B?”

  Seraphim Securities ought to be their very last option, but Severus understood the urgency. He nodded when Moira met his gaze, a silent conversation flowing between them in a heartbeat—one of permission, understanding, acceptance. His little hybrid wouldn’t force him inside that golden tinderbox—he knew that—but the thought of going near it made his skin crawl and his inner demon snarl.

  He really should have seen a client today. As their fingers entwined, Severus knew Moira saw the weakness in him, the depleted energy, the fading aura. She loved him all the same, weak or strong, but with the sudden turn the night had taken, he wished he could stand by her side at his full strength, capable of defending her against any foe.

  Collectively, the group decided to abandon Zachariah and head for Seraphim Securities. Cordelia and Severus would wait in the car while Alaric and Moira searched for an angel to alert.

  All this before nine o’clock.

  Which crept ever closer with each passing moment.

  They followed Cordelia and Alaric toward the rickety elevator that had carried them to this floor some ten minutes ago, ancient, thinning
carpet underfoot and wallpaper that better suited a nursing home boxing them in. Severus checked his wristwatch, then scowled. Nearly ten to the hour. Hopefully Alaric remembered the locations of all the barricades; they were going to need a faster route if they intended to notify but one of the angel fucks on duty tonight.

  The elevator doors peeled open with a squeaky groan, and as Alaric stabbed at the button, expression suggesting he had just touched something sticky, Moira sidled in close to Severus, still clutching his hand.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  The lift dropped about a foot suddenly, then began its slow, trembling descent to the ground floor. Severus pressed a kiss to his beloved’s temple, then offered her a thin smile. “Of course, darling.”

  Inside, his heart hammered its protest. No, no, no, no-no. Since his miraculous escape from the prison cells in the bowels of angel HQ, Severus hadn’t so much as glanced at the building. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it, taking alternate routes whenever possible, opting for the long way around if need be. Approaching it so head-on tonight would be… confronting.

  But he had faced far worse with Moira by his side.

  Hair swept back in a high ponytail, Moira mouthed that she loved him, leaning in and nuzzling at his neck with her nose. He kissed her, his smile far more genuine when their eyes met again. The elevator stopped suddenly, not quite at the ground floor, which prompted Alaric to stab at the button again. Severus, however, certainly didn’t mind the delay, not with Moira cuddled up to his side, her mouth so damn inviting. His inner demon rumbled appreciatively, suddenly rather interested in abandoning the mission so that he could fuck her—thoroughly—against the elevator wall.

  All that evaporated when the lift finally announced their arrival at the lobby with a crackly, slight off-key ding. Alaric and Cordelia sidled out first, and Severus followed after, leading Moira by the hand—but stopped abruptly, Alaric’s halted figure barring him from exiting the cramped space.

  “The fuck?” Alaric muttered. Severus peered over the redhead’s shoulder; the lobby was much the same as it had been when they’d first arrived: depressing, the walls a brownish yellow, the beige tiles scuffed and in dire need of replacing. Mailboxes to the left, newspaper stands to the right, the main entryway ahead consisting of four glass walls and a buzzer box to reach the tenants.

  Yes, all was as bland and pathetic as before, save for the figures loitering in the glass box.

  Trapped between the street door and the locked one that opened into the lobby were six—no, eight—vampires.

  And a dead, drained human at their feet.

  “Oh my god.” Moira slowly nudged her way through, gawking at the intruders. In an instant, all eight bared their fangs, hissing as they scratched their bloody talons across the thick hunk of plexiglass separating them. “It’s not even nine yet!”

  One of the growling, rabid fucks pounded his fist against the door; its hinges creaked in protest.

  “I don’t think they’re part of the uprising, darling,” Severus said, exchanging a quick glance with Alaric, then Cordelia. The pair were also sporting dark gazes, Alaric’s the usual stormy grey, his cousin’s pure obsidian. “I think they’re here for us.”

  Serafino desired Ella. From all she had shared with Severus, along with the little episode in the park this morning—an outing he had not agreed to, especially without him—the demonic vampire wanted her to be with him. Literally. Figuratively. The whole nine yards.

  From what he understood, vampires could be like that with their offspring: possessive, controlling. Some used their sired brood for more nefarious purposes, running them like one huge crime family, while others created colonies with their own laws and customs. In any event, the hell-born vampire ran the show. He or she called the shots. They were more powerful than their offspring and possessed significant control of those they turned.

  Ella had evaded Serafino’s advances for weeks now, and her resistance had probably only incensed his obsessive desire for her. It was clear the villain ran his colony like a cult, his offspring devoted to him and his needs. As it stood, Severus, Moira, Alaric, Cordelia, and definitely Malachi were obstacles. Huge obstacles, ones that would continue to bar Serafino from acquiring Ella Thomas for the foreseeable future.

  Tonight he would attempt to eliminate said obstacles.

  Severus had predicted that—but he hadn’t expected any of this to happen before nine.

  Jaw clenched, the incubus rolled his black gaze when the cluster of vampires made themselves louder, more obnoxious, all eight of them pounding and slashing at the glass, shrieking and hissing, their fangs bared.

  As he understood it, exposing one’s fangs was a rather aggressive move in vampire culture. An overt challenge. An unspoken fuck-you. A declaration of strength.

  From the sunken cheeks to the intensely bloodshot eyes, sharp collarbones peeking out from shirt necklines and broken talons and bony fingers, none of the eight looked strong.

  “Well,” Alaric said, arms crossed as he studied the group. “Don’t they all look rather, er…”

  “Hungry,” Cordelia finished for him. “Starving, really.”

  Fantastic. Severus tossed his head side to side, cracking his neck noisily as his inner demon bristled at the display. Just what they needed: a pack of rabid vampires chomping at the fucking bit for a piece of them. It didn’t surprise Severus in the slightest that Serafino starved his offspring; if he truly was hell-bent on destroying much of the human population in Farrow’s Hollow, how better than to sic a horde of near-death, half-mad, ravenous vampires on them?

  If these eight fuckwits represented the physical and mental state of the rest of the colony, tonight was going to be a massacre.

  Panic sparked and fizzled in his gut, leaving his mind racing and his hands in a prickly, cold sweat. Moira. He needed to get her out of here—immediately. Just as he rounded on the spot, about to demand she find a back door and make a run for it, she shouldered by him with a scowl.

  “Fuck these guys,” Moira muttered, her hands aglow with angelic light, their intensity far brighter than they had been a month ago. All that training with Zachariah had done something to her powers.

  That or she was still changing, her hybrid half still revealing the true extent of its reach.

  Still, that certainly didn’t mean Severus wanted her facing off with eight starving vampires.

  “Moira—”

  She hadn’t made it more than five strides, halfway across the lobby, before the eight in the entryway literally exploded. As if they had been slowly spinning in a microwave for the last twenty minutes, their bodies burst, blood and viscera and tattered clothing splattering the glass walls. Moira yelped and leapt back, her hands extinguished as they slapped over her mouth.

  Gone was the hissing, the snarling, the overt displays of bravado—replaced by a painfully silent lobby, a silence soon shattered by Cordelia’s girlish cackles. Severus found his witchy cousin painted with glee and blood, a stream trickling from either side of her mouth as she giggled. Teeth stained red, she swayed a little on the spot, but Alaric caught her before she tipped over.

  “Cousin,” Severus growled. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her tapping into her magical gifts to spare Moira the fight, but this was excessive, even by his standards. The toll the spell took on her was apparent: Cordelia’s knees buckled, forcing Alaric to prop her up as her unfocused gaze bounced aimlessly around the lobby. While Severus noted no open wounds on her pale, magically altered flesh, she was bleeding—first from her mouth, and now her nose. Perhaps she had marred so much of the outside that the magic had started attacking her insides.

  “Couldn’t help myself,” his cousin said dreamily, giggling again at Moira’s horrified expression. “I’m afraid I’m not really in the mood for this, you see. Just got in from Hell and I’m rather tired. An uprising tonight is just bad manners. Is there no civility left in this world?”

  He stared at her fo
r a moment, from the crazed glint in her eye to the deliriously giddy twist of her mouth, and then shook his head. Cordelia would always be their best asset in a fight, but his cousin had been an unpredictable loon since they were children.

  “Well, that was caught on camera,” Moira said, motioning to the twin black devices situated in the front corners of the lobby. They both pointed toward the entryway, to the blood-covered glass and ankle-deep vampire muck on the floor. His beloved looked to him helplessly, and he offered a one-shouldered shrug, equally at a loss.

  “Maybe the angels can alter it in the morning,” Alaric said as he readjusted his hold on Cordelia, his arm curled protectively around her waist. His stormy grey gaze jumped from Moira to Severus. “Let’s just get out of here while we can, shall we?”

  “Still to Seraphim Securities?”

  “If we can make it,” Moira said as she marched for the door. As soon as she nudged it open, the rank stench of dead, exploded vampire flooded the lobby—precisely how he imagined a hell-gate might smell to humans. Vomit-inducing. All the deceased vampires Severus had seen in his life had been reduced to ash by angel light or the sun. This… was something new, something downright ghastly.

  Nose wrinkled, he held his shirt over half his face as he picked his way through the sea of liquified bones and fascia, his hand hovering over Moira’s lower back so that she was never too far out of reach. Alaric and Cordelia brought up the rear this time, and as soon as the group stumbled onto the sidewalk, gulping down the fresh, freezing air, his friend cursed loud enough that residents six floors up must have heard.

  Not that Severus could blame him: Alaric’s SUV was on fire.

  “Oh, come on,” the hybrid hissed, handing off Cordelia to Severus as he stalked toward the burning vehicle. “I just bought this one…”

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  Moira’s phone alarm shrieked from the depths of her purse, and his heart leapt into his throat.