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

by Liz Meldon

  And how could she not be? Ella had been punished for a crime she hadn’t committed. Killing Serafino didn’t matter: she was still damned to Hell. All her friends, her family, the whole world would go on without her. All the people she knew, the life she had wanted, would wither and die. When she climbed out of that horrible bog in two hundred years, it would all be different. The social mores of her society—different. Maybe there would be hover cars by then. Maybe there would be colonies on Mars and the moon.

  Maybe it would be anarchy, with human society collapsed and guerilla warfare king.

  The possibilities were endless—and every single one of them depressing.

  A car door slammed behind her, Malachi stalking across the flattened snow toward the rear of the vehicle, his black coat fluttering in the breeze, off to collect their luggage. Alaric sat in the driver’s seat, face ashen with great black rings under his eyes. He hadn’t slept since yesterday. None of them had.

  They’d tried to find loopholes, of course, but Ella hadn’t been able to focus with Moira’s fate on her mind. Her best friend, the sister she had chosen above her actual siblings, hadn’t returned. Neither had Severus. It hurt Malachi. And Alaric. And Cordelia. A somber black cloud hung over the household today, its occupants trapped in the vise grip of exhaustion and helplessness. Ella’s bloody tears painted just about every surface. Her closets stood empty now, her bookshelves ransacked; she’d packed them while Alaric and Malachi had pleaded with Verrier for a solution.

  There was no way around it. Farrow’s Hollow had been in chaos all day, with videos of last night’s attack playing over and over again on the news, rabid vampires tearing people apart, cam footage of angels busting down doors—wings and all. The whole world had turned upside down in a matter of hours, and there was no going back.

  No possible way to circumvent Heaven’s edict.

  Because Serafino and his colony had exposed humans to the monsters in the shadows, to the winged warriors from above, all vampires were to be punished. No one from Hell had objected; no emissary had risen from a hell-gate anywhere around the globe to protest the mass exodus of vampires. Verrier had been under the impression that ol’ Lucifer sanctioned the punishment—that the fallen angel actually agreed with the ruling.

  Banished to Hell.

  Because of what some fucking asshole had done to her, what he’d stolen from her, thrust upon her, she was banished to Hell. The life she had known, the one she’d planned to resume now that Serafino was dead and she didn’t crave human blood like a crazed, hangry monster—gone. Everything she knew—gone. No more pizza deliveries, Thai takeout, movie nights at the university cinema. No more intramural sports. No more dancing at her favorite bars until her feet blistered. No more school. No more teaching degree. No more future shaping young minds and celebrating literature.

  She lifted her gaze to the driver’s seat again, her eyes heavy, her throat tight and thick and raw. The SUV belonged to Severus and Moira. She ought to see her best friend in the driver’s seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel, racked with worry, plagued by panic.

  But she wasn’t there.

  Ella’s lower lip wobbled.

  No more Moira.

  And that hurt worse than anything.

  That threatened to cut her off at the knees.

  It threatened to break her.

  But even if she let it, Ella wouldn’t be the only one falling to pieces tonight.

  Another car roared into the clearing, struggling around the snowdrifts, revving the engine, spinning its back wheels. The space was the fullest she had ever seen, dozens of vehicles scattered around what was ordinarily a quiet, dark, empty plot of land only ever used by the odd demon or two. Alaric had noted how rare it was to find traffic out here, to be forced to wait on the road while smaller cars navigated the forest path, made treacherous tonight by all the snow.

  While Serafino’s vampire colony had been wiped out of Farrow’s Hollow, vampires from surrounding communities had been pouring in since she and the others had arrived about fifteen minutes ago, desperate creatures fleeing before the midnight deadline. Ella checked her phone, lower lip caught between her teeth, the tips of her fangs slicing deeper into her flesh the harder she bit. Twenty-five minutes to go until it was all over. They had waited until the last possible moment, but given the distant figures circling above, heavenly vultures, Malachi predicted there would be angels swooping in at 12:01 to pick off stragglers.

  After all, the vampire community had been given notice. A letter had arrived at the house today; Cordelia had spotted it from the kitchen, hovering in front of the window, searching for a door to affix itself to. In the end, it just fluttered to the ground, delivered. Despite the damp, the golden seal remained intact, along with the message inside. As Zachariah had warned, the ban began tonight. Serafino had screwed them all over, and he wasn’t even around to suffer for it. Anyone who didn’t take advantage of their local hell-gate by midnight would, quote, face the wrath of Heaven’s might.

  Angels didn’t fuck around. She hadn’t really grasped the severity of that until today.

  So Ella had packed up all her belongings. She had spent hours phoning her actual family: her three brothers, her sister, her separated parents. The Thomas family had scattered across the country as soon as they were old enough, leaving Ella alone in their hometown, glad to be rid of the dead weight. But still, they were her family. They deserved some story that would explain why she couldn’t be reached. She went with a job opportunity in Europe.

  Only her brothers picked up, the others at work, maybe even screening her calls, and their half-hearted well-wishes hadn’t done much for her in the end.

  And now it was too late for goodbyes.

  Malachi emerged from the rear of the SUV a few moments later, balancing about eight enormous suitcases across his body, looking more pack mule than chaos demon. She reached out as he approached, more than capable of carrying a few bags herself, but he sidestepped her with a shake of his head.

  It had been a weird day with him. Weird, but oddly comforting. They hadn’t discussed that he would be taking her to Hell—it was just decided, no conversation needed. When loopholes seemed impossible, Malachi had packed his belongings and told her about the Saevitia family estate, about the room he had in mind for her, about the great empty halls she could decorate to her tastes.

  Cordelia was still too weak from all her spellcasting to travel, but she and Alaric had promised to join them in Hell once she was back on her feet. Malachi, meanwhile, saw to all the other details for the trip, and when they stepped out the front door, he hadn’t once looked back.

  This was happening.

  And it was happening with him. Even without Malachi saying the words, she knew he would look after her. It was unspoken, but it was fact.

  Just like her love for him. She hadn’t said it, but as he had held her this morning while her world fell apart, Ella had felt it. Love. Love for him. His love for her. She didn’t need to hear him make some big declaration. Malachi proved it with every step he took, lugging their bags across the snow without complaint, his fancy rings and tailored suit and ruby cufflinks and polished dress shoes be damned. He showed her in the way he cradled her in his arms, in the way he kissed her, fought for her—for her needs—time and time again without hesitation.

  Warmth swelled in her chest as she studied him and his ridiculous silhouette. Dressed in no more than a thin long-sleeved cardigan and a pair of her favorite jeans, completely unperturbed by the cold, Ella jogged after him. The distinct crunch of boots over snow had the chaos demon slowing, and he stopped entirely when she snagged his arm and steered him back around, then stood up on her toes to kiss him.

  Nothing fancy. Nothing too deep and desperate. Just a firm, hard kiss, her hands cupping his scruffy, strong jaw. The cold affected him, his skin like ice, a red tinge in his cheeks. Black eyes greeted her when she dropped from her tiptoes.

  With a sigh, Malachi shrugged all the luggage
off his back, black suitcases raining down around him, and then pulled her into a hug. Cheek to his chest, Ella squeezed hard, welcoming the heated trail of his fingertips down her back. Near the hell-gate, more couples embraced. Families consoled one another, bloody tears staining more cheeks than she could count. Auras clashed in the clearing tonight; most were vampires, but other supernatural energies hummed around them, paired with the odd black hole of nothingness.

  Humans had no auras.

  Hybrids had only the faintest shiver of energy around them, one that ignited when their other halves surfaced.

  People had known about this dark world long before tonight—it was clear in the way they clung to their vampire brothers, fathers, sisters, friends so desperately tight that her heart ached for them.

  Maybe even more than it ached for herself.

  But no matter how tight they all held one another, no matter how many bloody tears peppered the snow, their fate was the same: one by one, they stepped into the bog and disappeared beneath its murky surface.

  A one-way ticket to Hell.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Malachi murmured, his nose in her hair, his lips whispering across her temple. “You’re under the protection of the Saevitia clan. No one will touch you.”

  “I know.” She nodded, gripping the thick, soft fabric of his jacket as she took one last look around the clearing, at the families being torn apart, and then peered up at him, head tipped back. “I’m not afraid if I’m with you.”

  Moira had once told her all about Hell’s culture, about their social dynamics, about the machismo, the weakness of showing your fear. From what she’d gathered, vampires weren’t exactly at the top of the totem pole; Ella had no intention of being marked as easy prey.

  Actually, Moira had told her a great deal about Hell. The weather. The airport-like arrivals terminal she would appear into once they were through the hell-gate, an escalator at her feet and mirrors on the floors and ceilings. The carriages pulled by skeleton horses and the fact that Malachi would have horns, the cloaking magic of the gate washed off in transit. She wasn’t going into this blind, and that helped.

  But… It was still Hell.

  How could she not be frightened?

  The nearby slam of another door had them slowly untangling, and Ella flitted from Malachi to Alaric as soon as the hybrid joined them. They murmured their goodbyes to one another, and she held him tight, tears in her eyes for the man who had danced like a lunatic when she got her job in September, who did late-night takeout runs whenever she asked, who happily joined her Frisbee team when they were a player down.

  Because she would miss him, her easygoing roommate, her friend.

  Sure, he would be down in Hell with her soon, but it wasn’t the same.

  It would never be the same.

  When they finally broke apart, she was crying again, and Ella did nothing to stem the flow. Alaric brushed her cheeks dry with his gloved hands, smiling sadly, but he seemed to lack the words. So did she. The best she could manage was to stand there, arms limp at her side, chin quivering and tears falling.

  What the fuck else was she supposed to do?

  What was she supposed to say?

  Malachi dragged her close, tucking her under his arm inside his coat, and kissed the top of her head. The frown he wore was for her, for the disintegration of everything she had ever known, and Ella loved him for it, for his handsome scowl.

  The trio stood around a little while longer in a heavy silence, watching as one by one vampires disappeared through the gate, as the cars peeled out of the clearing—or sat abandoned, their owners gone for the next two hundred years. They just stood there, her feet planted like they had grown roots, unwilling to move another step, until Malachi fished out his pocket watch from the depths of his jacket, checked it, and then snapped it shut with a sigh.

  “Five minutes, dearest.”

  He didn’t need to say anything else. Time to go. For real now. Ella shouldered her way out from under his heavy wool coat, snatching up two of her bags and ignoring his protests, and then plodded toward the bog. Steam curled off it like a crooked finger beckoning her ever closer, a dingy layer of moss and gunk floating on its surface. She grimaced, dreading the fact that she would have to put her whole body into it.

  That it would be her last memory of Earth.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this without Moira,” she muttered when Malachi fell in line beside her, slightly less burdened now but still hauling a good six suitcases by himself. Ella pressed her lips together firmly, forcing Moira from her mind.

  Moira who might be dead by now.

  Moira who probably was dead by now. Verrier had told her the statistics just before he left the house that evening, the likelihood of a Nephilim surviving the courts of Heaven.

  Slim to none.

  Ella squared her shoulders, tears falling unchecked, but she kept her dignity, refusing to burst out into more sobs.

  The last of the vampires in the clearing vanished through the gate, the water rippling briefly before falling still again. Ella dragged her feet the final few steps, stopping at the muddy shoreline, algae stretching for the pointed tips of her boots.

  With some difficulty, Malachi’s hand found her. Despite all the bags, he managed to coil a few fingers around hers, and she squeezed back, the handle of her old, beat-up suitcase still gripped tight in her palm. Ella glanced up at him, forcing a thin smile. She had to be brave, look tough—like she had done this a thousand times already. Predatory demons would be waiting for the influx of lesser creatures, easy pickings outside the arrivals hall. No one had said it explicitly, but she expected a feeding frenzy.

  And Ella Thomas wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  “You ready?” he rumbled, his tone as patient as it had been all day, ever since they started packing their things. Patient, restrained, collected. Outside of that, his aura was a chaotic mess, a madman in chains, toned down for her benefit. Ella shook her head.

  “No. But let’s do this anyway.”

  Nose wrinkled, she lifted her foot, about to plunge it in to the murky water, when a whisper of wings tickled the back of her neck—

  “Ella!”

  Moira’s voice cut clear and crisp across the clearing. It echoed as she whipped around, knocking her bags into Malachi, catching her shoulder on the ones hanging off him. The sound carried out toward the trees in rippling waves—Ella, Ella, Ella, Ellaaa…—and she blinked, stunned, disbelief coursing through her. Bright-eyed and smiling, her best friend tore across the snow like a goddamn missile, headed straight for her unchecked, unhindered, arms stretched wide.

  “Moira!”

  “The courts deemed me worthy of liiiife!” Moira cried, her pace never once slowing. “I’m a free Nephilim!”

  They collided like thunder, stumbling this way, staggering that way, wrapped in each other’s arms. For the first time all night, happy tears streaked down Ella’s cheeks, and she held nothing back, embracing Moira with all her strength. Long white strands marred her view over her bestie’s shoulder, but through them she saw Malachi rushing toward an approaching Severus, dragging his younger brother into a huge bear hug. The pair chuckled out a greeting, one she vaguely heard over the roar of elation whooshing between her ears. Alaric jogged over to join them as well, the group infected with smiles and incredulous laughter.

  Beyond them all, next to the SUV, stood a weary-looking Zachariah.

  And despite everything, it seemed all their smiles had infected him too. Faintly. Very, very faintly. He gave a little nod and then vanished. Ella held Moira tighter, a little place in her heart forever reserved for that particular angel.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered. “I’m so happy you…” Didn’t die today. Ella swallowed thickly, eyes tinged with a red shimmer as she peered up at the black night. “I needed to say goodbye properly—”

  “We’re not here to say goodbye.” Moira pulled back, her cheeks wet, her breath fogging as th
e temperature around them plummeted. She shook her head, beaming. “Honey, we’re coming with you.”

  Words failed her. “Moira… You can’t. You—”

  “If you think I’m going to let you go to Hell without me, you’re fucking dreaming.”

  “But what about the house, school, work? You have a whole future—everything—”

  “Ella.” Moira gave her shoulders a little shake, stooping down to meet her eyeline. “You’re everything.”

  Behind them, someone cleared their throat very pointedly—Severus, most likely, given his impish grin. Moira glanced back with a chuckle, rolling her eyes.

  “This,” she said, nodding to Severus, to Malachi, to Alaric, then back to Ella. “This is everything.”

  A pleasant, easy heat trickled through her at the realization. Moira was right. Work, school, movie nights and Halloween costumes and 3 a.m. takeout wasn’t everything. This. These people. This was her family, the one she had craved all her life. It wasn’t two-point-five kids and a mild-mannered husband in the suburbs. It was this ragtag crew of demons and hybrids. It was Malachi and his sinful smile and black eyes, his blood and his fire, his passion and his chaos. Moira, Severus, Alaric, Cordelia—they were family. Malachi was her heart.

  And that, right there, was her everything.

  Home was wherever they went.

  Even if wherever was Hell.

  “Well, this has been lovely,” Severus said curtly, darting around the group and heading for Malachi and Ella’s abandoned bags. “But we’re a minute and thirty out from midnight. Let’s move, folks.”

  Moira planted a rough, quick kiss on her cheek, then hurried after Severus, the pair taking most of the luggage between them as they waded into the bog. After a final quick one-armed hug from Alaric, Ella jogged after them, she and Malachi grabbing a bag each, their free hands entwined.