by Liz Meldon
Nearby, the human woman shakily peered out over the jagged edge of the bus window.
“They all know now,” Moira said softly, holding the woman’s gaze. Her wings fluttered, then flared at the reinvigorated war cries from Grace’s battalion.
“Yes. They know some things, but humans have always known some things,” Zachariah stated, his tone giving nothing away—not how he felt about the humans of Farrow’s Hollow being exposed to vampires and angels, nor what he thought of the impending fallout. Did they have a plan? Mass memory wipe?
The angel flexed his large hands in and out of fists, and Moira nodded to the woman, then made a show of slowly covering her eyes. Even to Moira, a full angel’s light was brutal. She’d compared her own glow to the sun, but her light was the sun’s rays on Earth—Zachariah’s would be like standing right at the precipice, toe to toe with the flaming star.
Thankfully, the woman got the hint; she clapped both hands over her eyes, then ducked down. Grace’s legion to the west had started their charge again, unbothered by Zachariah’s flaming sword, his wings stretched wide.
Morons.
Poor brainwashed morons.
As they hurtled toward her, Moira actually felt sorry for them, for the hand that life had dealt them.
Ella could have been one of them. If she and Malachi hadn’t found her in time, Serafino could have whisked her away and warped her, twisted her into one of these creatures.
Her expression hardened as tears sliced down her cheeks.
“Do not pity them, Moira Aurelia,” Zachariah murmured. “This is a mercy.”
“But what about the other demons?” A cacophony of screams and cries and snarls filled the air. Moira could practically feel the bloodlust of the charging vampires on her skin, the street rumbling underfoot. “Inside houses, the ones who aren’t even involved in this—”
“We have a squadron raiding human homes. My light is intended for vampires touched by moonlight this night.” He glanced her way, a ghost of a smile teasing his mouth. “Be at peace, Moira Aurelia. There are rules.”
She shifted closer, a shiver cutting down her spine at the oncoming darkness. Just because there were rules didn’t mean Zachariah’s light wouldn’t hurt any innocent demons caught in the crossfire outside; after all, there had to be a reason he had ordered Severus and the others off the street. “Well, most of the rules have been broken tonight.”
“Indeed,” Zachariah remarked, using the tone that always told her he was done for the day—no more questions, change of subject, let us discuss something less controversial. Swallowing thickly, Moira shrank deeper into the feathery caress of his right wing, the vampires almost on top of them now, so close she could see the bloodshot whites of their eyes, the saliva dripping from their fangs, the blood under their talons.
Grace shrieked at the crest of her horde, black dagger raised—
Light filled the street. The screaming stopped, bodies reduced to ash in the time it took her to blink twice. Bright, warm light spilled out from Zachariah’s palms, rising to the height of nearby buildings and beyond. This time, she could withstand the onslaught; unlike the scorching caress of an angel’s Truth Touch, this had a soothing effect, akin to a fierce summer wind. This time, she didn’t need to squint. Moira could take it.
Her wings folded in, the danger vanquished. Warmth kissed her cheeks, her hands. It ruffled her hair, her clothes. It bathed her in hope, her heart lifting, her mind clearing. Somehow tomorrow looked so much brighter. She envisioned his light flooding all the streets of Farrow’s Hollow, pushing back the darkness, breathing hope back into the people.
Her easy smile dropped.
All the streets…
Only for vampires touched by moonlight…
Please, Ella, be inside the house.
Stomach in knots, Moira sprinted from Zachariah’s side, wishing her wings were big enough to carry her home.
Chapter Seventeen
“Okay, so…” Ella put the SUV in park, idling at the curb in front of St. Augustine’s, a dilapidated old church on the farthest southern reaches of Farrow’s Hollow. In her youth, the place had been run by a priest who drank to excess and demanded parishioners donate half their paychecks toward church upkeep. While it wasn’t anywhere close to Ella and Moira’s old suburban haunt, rumors had spread far and wide about the place. No surprise it was run-down and untouched these days in a district full of foreclosed houses and abandoned storefronts.
No rampaging vampires down here either, but if there were no humans, then that made sense. Sort of.
She unbuckled her seat belt, dug into her purse on the passenger seat, then straightened and faced Malachi in the back, presenting him with his options.
“Ball gag or bar gag?”
Bound in belts, ropes, and a bike chain they had found hanging in Alaric’s closet, the chaos demon cocked his head to the side and leveled her with a cool, somewhat unimpressed look.
“If you think you’re putting one of those fucking things in my mouth—”
“Yeah,” she said, tossing the ball gag on top of her purse. “The ball’s kind of dramatic, I agree. Bar seems a bit more serious, like I’m really here to do business.”
He growled, eyes snapping to black. “Ella.”
Grinning, she used her vamp speed to best him, shoving the leather gag in his mouth and looping the straps around the back of his head. Malachi exhaled, his breath hot and annoyed against her cheek, as she locked the gag in place, then retreated to appraise her handiwork. To outsiders, the demon looked bound, gagged, and subdued, but in those black eyes, she saw defiance.
Defiance and a lot of lust.
Yeesh. There was no off switch on this guy.
But from the way her sex tingled, desperate for more after what was supposed to be goodbye sex on the roof, apparently Ella had no off switch around him either.
“You look so beautiful,” she crooned, wiggling her brows when his eyes narrowed. “Totally helpless. Utterly at my mercy.”
He huffed, nostrils flared indignantly, and she giggled as she cut the SUV’s engine. Severus and Moira had left it parked where it always was, opting to all pile into Alaric’s vehicle to find Zachariah over an hour ago, which had made the trek from downtown Farrow’s Hollow to this backwoods borough a breeze.
You know, excluding the vampires they’d met along the way. Twice the vehicle had been swarmed, but when Ella rolled down the window and hissed, fangs bared, eyes as wild as she could make them, they had all retreated.
Malachi theorized they had been instructed to do so, that Serafino had told his minions should they see her, to let her pass freely.
Which was just… fantastic.
Telepathically, Ella had been able to connect with her demonic maker back at the house. It had taken about fifteen tries to establish contact and left her with a seething headache behind her eyes, but she had eventually told Serafino she was game. Time to play ball. She was his. All that bullshit.
In a seductive purr, the hell-born vampire had instructed her to meet him in the basement of St. Augustine’s.
For their union.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
No way would he allow Malachi anywhere near him, so they had decided to go for a Trojan horse approach: walk the chaos demon in, bound and chained, and offer him as a gift. Apparently Serafino had a mouthful of fake teeth because of Malachi; if Ella served him up on a platter, then she could get her partner in crime close enough to Serafino that he could help her finish him.
In theory.
It could all go wrong from the get-go. Ella was prepared for that. The most difficult part would be selling the idea that she was there because she wanted to be—because she wanted Serafino. Gag.
“Oh, don’t look so grumpy.” She slipped the SUV’s keys into her purse, along with the ball gag. “I’m sure Severus and Moira wash these after they use them.”
Malachi’s eyes widened. “Wha’?”
“Didn’t I tell you w
here I got them from?” Ella asked, fluttering her lashes as he scowled and writhed against his restraints. “Those two have a whole kink arsenal up there… like a full dresser of toys.”
Together, they had raided every room in the house to find suitable restraints for someone as powerful as Malachi, things that would look realistic enough to convince Serafino that she had, in fact, captured a chaos demon on her own. Her bestie had shown Ella that dresser months ago, shyly, full of blushes and giggles as Ella curiously inquired about all the whips and gags and plugs. Moira and Severus had a very enthusiastic sex life, which, given he was a lust demon, didn’t surprise her. Generally Ella was just curious about all the new and weird items, and since there were no secrets between them, it was only a matter of time before Moira had let her peek behind the curtain.
Moira would have no qualms about Ella using the gags tonight, she was completely certain of that, but Severus might want to incinerate this one after he learned it had been in his brother’s mouth.
Adrenaline tickled her palms as she grabbed the stake she had hidden under the front seat and tucked it up her sleeve. Smooth and maneuverable for her size, Malachi had hastily carved it from a broken dining chair leg while she’d gathered supplies to tie him up with. Now, it sat nestled in the slightly baggy sleeve of her navy FU sweater, a gift from Moira’s mom, a piece of her past, a much-needed security blanket.
With her weapon locked and loaded, she smirked at a still protesting Malachi, then hopped out of the front seat and slammed the door. Across the two-lane road sat four old wartime bungalows, the white paint chipping around the windows, their front gardens scraggly and overgrown. Not a single light flickered on as she studied them; had Serafino cleared the old homes out—maybe even used them to house his colony? The thought made her shiver, and she hastily opened the back door, then grabbed the bike chain looped tightly around Malachi’s neck, using the extra length like a leash.
“Can you see the stake?” she whispered as he shuffled out and towered over her at his full height. The chaos demon stopped grumbling for a moment to assess her, then tipped his head side to side in a sort of motion that made her frown. Letting his chain-link leash fall to the ground, she tucked the stake farther up her sleeve. “Better?”
He grunted something that Ella interpreted as a yes. Clearing her throat, she seized the bike chain and yanked him away from the car, using her full strength to make it look real, then slammed the door shut. Malachi stumbled for added effect, his scowl a permanent fixture as they rounded the SUV and hurried toward the old church.
Shattered stained glass windows greeted them, along with a padlocked pair of front doors, imposing gothic spires, and icy concrete steps. Figuring there was a side entrance, she led him toward the paved lane that stretched from the road to the parking lot behind the church.
Out of the corner of her eye, something shot up from the depths of Farrow’s Hollow, something bright and white, something that made her squint and cower. So far, Malachi had kept the leash taut between them, like she really was pulling him along against his will; when he also noticed the light, a light similar to Moira’s but way more intense, he plowed forward, shoving her until they found an unlocked side door, a rusted chain hanging off the handle.
“Okay, can you not push your captor?” Ella muttered. She shot him a quick glare before wrenching open the door and dragging him inside to a set of narrow stone stairs descending into the bowels of the building. A sudden rush of musty, moldy air made her nose crinkle, the space claustrophobic enough that Malachi’s broad shoulders skimmed both walls when he faced forward.
With his hands bound together in front of him by two thick belts, strings from Alaric’s many pristine cooking aprons knotted around his midsection to keep his arms tight to his massive frame, Malachi had trouble grabbing at the slowly closing door, but he managed, forcing it shut noisily behind them.
And just in time too. Seconds later, the teeny, tiny bit of space surrounding the door illuminated with light, a flash of sunshine on this bleak winter night, and Ella whipped around with a cry, her eyes burning. Malachi hissed behind her, but still managed to drag her flush against him, crouched over and shielding her with his body. Little white dots danced across the insides of her eyelids, stark and harsh against the black, and she bore down, hoping to just ride it out.
A feat she knew she could do, because riding out the pain, waiting for a better day, had been the story of her life lately.
Malachi’s sudden absence suggested that the danger had passed, but the piercing white light around the door was swiftly replaced by a sharp stabbing ache in her chest that made her gasp. Like her heart had up and exploded, the pain radiated outward, touching every limb, every cell, and Ella stumbled down a few steps, dropping the bike chain, before collapsing onto the stone.
“W-what’s happening?” She clutched at her chest, fire lapping at her insides, and gritted her teeth against the assault. “It hurts.”
“They’re dead…” A voice she usually only heard inside her head trickled up from the base of the stairs; when she looked, Serafino was nowhere to be found. But he was here. Somewhere close. Candlelight flickered on the walls below, suggesting some ridiculous setup just around the corner.
Malachi crouched behind her, the stairwell too narrow for them to sit side by side, and gripped her forearm. A twitch of his brow said all that he couldn’t. Did she want to go back? Was she okay? Ella swallowed thickly, the pain finally dropping from a heart attack—she assumed, anyway, based on her first aid training—to really aggressive heartburn. When their eyes met, she shook her head, determined to see this through.
He nodded, pride etched into the lift of his lips, shimmering brazenly his black gaze. Malachi wanted her to fight.
She loved him for that. She always would.
The chaos demon helped her up, checking her over as far as his little T. rex arms could reach, but she shrugged him off and snatched his makeshift leash. As desperate as she was to feel his hands on her body, to let them wander rough and unchecked, Ella had a role to play, a mask to wear.
One look at them now and Serafino would know she didn’t belong to him. Not by a mile.
“My children,” the vampire wailed from the church’s depths, and Ella rolled her eyes, dragging Malachi along as she pushed through the pain and trudged the rest of the way down.
The stairwell opened into a dark room with a terribly low ceiling, grey stonework from top to bottom. That musty, moldy scent intensified, the room’s corners marred with a black fuzz that gave her the heebie-jeebies. A few dust-covered bookshelves stood near the cobweb-infested windows. In the middle of it all sat an altar cloaked in red silk, six fake candles flickering on top.
And at its base, Serafino weeping tears of blood, a dramatic arm thrown over his forehead, his black eyes trained on her.
Crocodile tears. She recognized them immediately, but Ella schooled her features so that she appeared concerned for his well-being, possibly even frightened. Dressed in a crisp white suit, his raven-black waves slicked back and the soles of his shoes a pristine red, Serafino stared her down for a moment, then sat up and wiped his bloody tears away.
“The pain you feel is the loss of your kin, my love,” Serafino croaked. “All dead.” He snapped his fingers curtly, and she flinched for good measure. “Just like that… Destroyed by angel light.”
He shot up, steadying himself unnecessarily on the altar, like he lacked the strength to stay upright. Ella nibbled her lower lip, the hum of Malachi’s chaotic presence behind her the only thing keeping her focused. Otherwise she would have rolled her eyes and scoffed. Of course angels had wiped out the plague ripping through Farrow’s Hollow.
Is that really a surprise? This is what happens in a city with angels… They fight back, and they win. Shouldn’t you have realized that?
“Yes,” Serafino said with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I should have realized that…”
Ella stiffened; apparently their mental conne
ction remained if she spoke directly to him in her head. Not good. Not good at all. That telepathic link could ruin everything. She stood a little taller, emptying her mind, imagining it filled with a blanket of fog, a veil of nothingness.
“I suppose I did realize that,” Serafino carried on, his voice stronger now, less wounded, a dangerous glint in his gaze as it drifted up and down her body. “But now all of Hell’s vampires will see how they treat us, how little our lives matter—as above, so below. We need to take a stand.”
She blinked back at him, the hand gripping Malachi’s bike chain leash tightening enough that the metal links warped in her palm. As desperately as Ella tried to remain neutral, to not think, she couldn’t help it: Serafino had planned for this to happen. He had just fucking admitted it. His colony was cannon fodder to prove a goddamn point.
Unable to stop herself, she glanced back at Malachi, but the chaos demon didn’t seem to share her rage, her white-hot indignation. He merely stared at Serafino, oozing indifference—boredom, even.
“And what is this, my bella?”
She faced forward with a soft gasp; Serafino had closed the distance between them by half. The demonic vampire studied Malachi curiously, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes wild with interest.
“I brought you a, er, gift,” she stammered, yanking Malachi a few steps forward with a harsh tug on the bike chain. He indulged her, shifting from indifferent to indignant in a heartbeat, playing his role almost convincingly. Ella cleared her throat. “He’s… a gift for our union.”
A visible shudder coursed down Serafino, his lips quivering, his excitement palpable. A pale pink tongue flicked out as he appraised Malachi. “And how did you manage that?”
“He’s been wanting to fuck me since the day we met,” Ella told him, forcing herself to sound both confident and disgusted. “It wasn’t exactly difficult to get him tied up under the right, you know, circumstances. I mean, he practically begged for it if it meant he could touch me.”