by TW Knight
The being raised its hand to the reflection. In an instant, everything changed. Cassidy stood staring at the sword with Rail standing behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. The glow gradually faded.
"What the hell is going on? What just happened?"
"I have no idea." Rail skimmed his fingers down Cassidy's cheek, still looking at their reflection. "But now I understand that becoming one line from the prophecy was a literal translation." He shrugged. "Well, I think this explains how we got out of Hell. Lucifer must have been shitting his pants."
Cassidy continued to stare at the reflection. "But... How?"
"No clue. But now's not the time to try to figure it out."
Boomer stepped between Cassidy and the jabbering Fallen Angel, now in human form, on the floor. "So what's your story?" He nudged him with his boot.
The bedraggled figure moved to his knees and threw back the hood on his tattered grey wolf fur cloak. He gazed at Cassidy and Rail like a kid meeting his favorite superhero, tears streaming from his glowing eyes. "Thank you."
Chapter Five
Boomer caught Bree under her arms and helped her to her feet. She continued to sob into her hands.
"He killed Bass," she whispered. Wiping her eyes, she startled, surprised to find Boomer next to her, not her brother. "Wait, where's Sam?"
"He's okay. Just out cold." The warrior pointed over his shoulder to the young man lying motionless on the floor. "And don't worry about Bass, he'll be back in a couple of days."
"He said the same thing before he..." She walked to where her brother lay. "You don't understand. I told you, he's dead."
"For now." He kept his tone soothing, but Bree shook her head. "Yo, Rail. You find out who this shit-head is?"
"With all the babbling he's doing, it's hard to tell, but I think he said Hogart."
"Never heard of him."
Rail snorted. "I have. About a thousand years ago, I crossed paths with another of our brothers who told me about one of our kind playing at being a God up north."
"Oh great, he's one of those idiots," Boomer spat. "Rather sit around and be worshiped than doing your job, or any real work. Do you know how many messes we've had to clean up because of jackasses like you? You guys are as bad as minions." He glanced to where the girl knelt next to her brother and lowered his voice to a rough whisper. "Do you know how many innocents have died because of you idiots?"
"Enough, Boomer." Rail waved him down. "I'd say he hasn't been in his right mind for a long time."
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Hogart snarled at Rail.
"You have something to say," Rail snapped.
***
Ignoring the interrogation taking place behind her, Bree checked Sam over as best she could without moving him. His heartbeat was strong. His breathing relaxed. No blood. If not for the large goose egg on the back of his head, Bree would think he slept. Since he didn't react when she'd practically shoved the smelly capsules from the first-aid kit up his nose, he probably had a serious concussion. Or worse. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Bree whistled shrilly to interrupt the rising voices. "Sam needs help. He won't wake up."
Hogart took a step forward in answer to her call, only to be stopped by a muscled and armed wall. With a grunt, he protested, "The boy is injured."
"And you caused it," Rail hissed, tapping his sword blade against the other man's chest.
"Then let me help him. I feel better now." He rapped the side of his head with his knuckles.
Bree stared at the man who had dogged them for years. He still scared her, but he did appear a bit calmer and somehow less intimidating, despite all the hair and fur. And smell.
Hogart nodded toward Sam. "I would never have hurt him, or any of you, if I had been thinking clearly."
"No, really? Tell me another story." Boomer scoffed, sheathing his broad sword beneath the back of his parka.
Another round of bickering erupted. Bree screamed in frustration. "I don't care who it is! Sam needs help now, damn it!"
Reluctantly, the others stepped aside and let the big man pass, but not without whispered warnings.
For the first time since she was a teenager, Bree got a good look at their stalker. He was a beast of a man, towering over her. The furs added bulk to his large frame. Silver-grey hair matched the furs he wore and was pulled back in a series of braids merging into one rope-like braid falling over his shoulder, nearly to his waist.
His face held Bree's attention— the cruel set of his mouth and dark eyes set against the raven tattoo covering the left side of his face and neck.
The vague memory of that face had invaded her nightmares as a teenager. A man changing into a bird, chasing her and Sam, flying away with Sam.
She repressed a shiver. She was older now, wiser. Stronger. She'd seen things no one else had— or should see. She refused to fear him anymore. Steeling herself against the frosty gaze, Bree forced herself to see the artistry in the ink, not the face behind it. The image was a raven in profile. Hogart's left eye was the eye of the bird, its beak following the curve of his nose. The feathers flowed back into his scalp, blending black with his grey hair. It gave the unsettling impression that the man was transforming into the bird. Just like her nightmares.
Bree didn't blink as she squared off with him. "You said you didn't want to hurt us. If that was true, why did you attack?"
Hogart lowered to his knees next to Sam. "I was afraid. I thought they were minions in league with the Hell beasts I battled outside."
His heavily accented voice rang with truth and regret, but Breanna couldn't let go of her rage. "You could have killed Sam. You did kill him." She stabbed a finger at Bass' prone body. "You could have killed all of us. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Yes," he rumbled softly. "I am sorry. Please, let me atone for my actions. Let me help your brother now."
Bree looked for support from the warriors, only to find Cassidy standing there alone. Where the others went, Bree didn't care. She needed guidance in the midst of all the craziness. The fighting she could deal with, even the demons and all their nastiness, but seeing the men turn into monsters? It was just a bit too much to handle when lumped in with Bass' death and her brother's injury.
Cassidy nodded. "Let him help."
"Okay." Bree scooted over, stopped, and lunged to protect her brother when Hogart withdrew a large knife from under his furs.
"Tis for me, not the boy," he said calmly.
"What are you going to do?" It took Bree a moment to realize the squeaky mouse voice was hers.
"Our blood heals—"
"Blood! Blood? Wait. What? No." Her thoughts scattered in ragged circles. Papers in the wind. Before she could recollect them, Hogart cut his palm, letting the blood drip freely into Sam's mouth. "What are you doing?" She leapt forward again, only to find herself restrained by Cassidy.
"It's okay. Gross, but okay. Rail's had to do this for me a few times."
Bree turned to the other woman and asked, "You will explain all of this, won't you?"
Cassidy nodded.
After a minute, Sam coughed and with a groan, opened his eyes.
***
Bree sat in her room attempting to make sense of the things they'd been told since Sam regained consciousness, demanding answers the moment his eyes opened.
The warriors talked about their origins, the reason they were in Alaska, and what it all meant for Bree.
As she sat, dazed, her mind spinning, Rail and Boomer carried Bass into the room and laid him out on her cot. "He'll appreciate the comfort when he comes back," Boomer assured her, pulling a blanket over his friend.
The big warrior looked like he was peacefully sleeping. The diamond in his left ear winked in the dim light, a spark as bright and wicked as Bass’ smile, teasing her. Bree had the urge to curl up next to him. Then she remembered, he wasn't sleeping; he was dead, his neck broken. Bree fought back a sob. He'd died protecting her.
And there she sat, watchin
g, waiting for him to return to life.
Tucking the blanket around his shoulders, Bree brushed her fingers through Bass' hair. The strands were like silk.
When they'd stripped off his parka, Bree marveled at the waist–length cascade of dark chocolate strands with dark golden bronze and caramel highlights. Around his face, the shorter lengths curled into soft waves. She would sell her soul for hair like his. Her mousey brown mess was embarrassing by comparison.
Startled by a soft knock at the door, Bree pulled her hand away as though she'd been burned. "Yes?"
"Can I come in?" The door opened to reveal Cassidy. "I come bearing coffee."
"Sure. Thanks." Bree took the offered mug.
"Your brother made it. Double sweet with a touch of milk." Cassidy nodded to the drink.
"I would prefer a mocha latte with whip, but this will do," she said lightly with a small laugh, but the joke fell flat. She didn’t feel like laughing. Heaving a sigh, Bree took a long sip of steaming caffeine, letting the warmth fill her.
Cassidy leaned back against the wall by the door. "I'm guessing you have a lot of questions," she began.
"You could say that."
"Yeah. I just went through this less than a year ago." After a quick glance around the sparse room, Cassidy moved a box next to Bree and cautiously sat. "Ask."
Bree puffed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. "I don't know where to start." She contemplated the insanity of what she'd been told— but was it any crazier than the things she'd already experienced?
With a look of understanding, Cassidy patted her on the knee. "Let's start slow. How about I try to explain why you're sitting here mourning someone you just met as though he were a longtime friend?"
"You said something about bondage?"
A momentary shocked silence hung between them before Cassidy's laughter rang out. "I think you misunderstood."
Bree had to admit, at some point during the history lesson regarding Earth, man, God the Creator, and the angels she'd tuned out. It was just too much to comprehend. Which said a lot considering she had her studies in theology, mythology, and folklore to fall back on.
Looking over the rim of her mug, she said, "Rail mentioned something about me holding a soul."
"Yes. And that's why you feel so close to Bass. You two are bonded. We're pretty sure you're his soul-keeper." Cassidy chewed her lip for a moment. "Do you remember what we said about the angels being kicked out of Heaven and what makes them different than Lucifer and other Fallen Angels?"
Tapping the side of her mug, Bree sorted through her memory. "They were forced out of Heaven for refusing to return to Earth and fight demons because God had taken away their human families and friends." Slowly it all flowed back to her.
Long ago, angels were charged with protecting, mentoring, and teaching the early humans. They were called Watchers. Civilizations developed and grew under their care. But as in any close community, relationships formed and many the angels fell in love. Some started families. A group known as the Hierarchy did not approve. They especially disapproved of the hybrid children. As the de facto leaders amongst the angels, they somehow convinced the Creator to cleanse the world. According to Rail, this was the origin for the many great flood legends found in the histories of numerous cultures worldwide.
Prior to the destruction, every angel was pulled back to Heaven. Those who were guilty of having relations with the humans, and their supporters, were imprisoned. Then in a cruel twist of fate, they were ordered back to Earth to clean up the mess and fight the demon hoards attacking the surviving humans striving to rebuild the world.
Bree imagined the outrage they felt and understood the "fuck you" attitude adopted by the rebellious angels.
"How did the Hierarchy force the angels to fight? I know you told me, but it think that's when my brain turned off."
"At the moment the defiant angels were cast out of Heaven, the ruling angels ripped out their immortal souls and cast them into random unborn human children. By bonding the angels in this way, they were forced to protect every human being in order to protect their own souls. It made them the guardians of humanity. Although recently they've taken to calling themselves the Dark Knights of Heaven, or the Knights of the Fallen, or something equally dramatic," Cassidy said with a sad smile. "That's the connection you feel with Bass. You are his soul's keeper."
"But how do you know for sure?"
"Well, Bass was the first to point out that it was you who felt like an Aktura, so that was a clue. But mainly because of the way you're acting. Touching the person seems to cement the bond. And I'm sure you two touched during the fight." Cassidy sipped her coffee. "What we don't understand is why Hogart is so fixated on you. You're not his soul-keeper and your brother isn't an Aktura at all."
Her heart twisted, making her dizzy. "Is what I'm feeling real?" Heat crept across her cheeks. "Or is it because of this connection?"
"That's for you to figure out. It's seems to be that all of us experienced an intense connection at first. Heightened emotions. But what you're feeling now may fade into friendship or grow into something more. It's entirely up to you. Just know that you'll always be connected to Bass. Even when he's dead."
"Yeah, about that..."
"Maybe that's a conversation we should have with the guys." Cassidy stood and held out her hand.
The moment Bree set her coffee aside, she was enveloped in a hug. Tears flowed freely and she didn't try to hold them back.
Finally she had some answers to the madness.
Chapter Six
In the depths of Hell, Idras, The Black Witch, The Fallen Sister, Seer of Hell, watched in rapt fascination as her Lord and Master Satan, the Great Darkness, punished Lucifer for his recent failure. Not only had the first Fallen Angel allowed his prisoners to escape, but in doing so, somehow caused all the portals to the World of Man to close.
Hard to believe Hell's second in command had fallen so low in Satan's eyes.
After two months, it didn't look like Lucifer's punishment would end anytime soon.
It was unlikely their Master would actually, permanently, kill Lucifer, but he would make the Fallen Angel beg for sweet oblivion over and over.
Idras' heart leapt to her throat when Lucifer's head snapped back, moved by an invisible blow. The massive black cloud marking the Dark Lord's presence swirled and writhed around its victim, leaving slashes and bloody trails. Another scream echoed from the cloud, and Idras trembled.
The Seer clasped her hands over her mouth to quiet any noise which might escape. Hopefully, if anyone saw her, they would surmise she stifled gleeful laughter at her rivals' pain.
Little did they know.
Only the Master suspected the truth.
Damn him, she thought. If not for Lucifer, she wouldn't be in a tough position. She fought her destiny from the day she and her sisters were pulled from the Abyss and set on Fate's Path. Thanks to him, she served a master she couldn't submit to fully.
God. She mentally snarled the word. It was all God's fault. If the Omnipotent One hadn't infused the world with its energy, the Beast— Satan, Evil incarnate —would have never awakened.
If not for the influences of the Dark Beast, Lucifer would not have given into temptation. The Hierarchy would not have cast him out of Heaven. She would not have followed.
Did Lucifer know she chose to be cast out to save her sisters?
Would he care?
It wasn't as selfless an act as one would think.
Power brushed Idras' shields and she held her breath. The Master knew she watched from the shadows. She could only hope he hadn't read her traitorous thoughts.
The Master already suspected her reason for joining the Dark. Idras could only hope she'd convinced him her reason had been a passing fancy.
But how can one completely give up love?
Idras choked back a relieved groan as the sensation from her Master's searching presence vanished. She may have pledged her soul to the Darkness, but
not her heart. That belonged to another.
Not that the bastard deserved it. He didn't care about her in the least, except for her precious visions.
The never–ending war between Light and Dark was no different than the many civil wars the humans fought. Two sides of the same coin fighting for dominance. Idras scoffed at her analogy. Neither God nor Satan put in a personal appearance in thousands of years. Their pawns, angels and demons alike, played an automated chess match. Their moves laid out eons ago. Patterns leading to a series of perpetual checks, but never a check mate.
Energy rippled through the space, a small tremor, drawing the Dark One's attention from his game.
A portal had opened.
Idras watched Lucifer's lifeless body drop to the ground and fought the urge to run to his side. Within moments, a small demon pack clambered into the chamber and dragged his body over to the shackles hanging from the wall. It would be a few days before Lucifer rose, but obviously the Master wasn't taking any chance on his new plaything finding an escape.
Once the body was hung, Idras watched in silence. The horde abused Lucifer; tearing his wounds, molesting, raping, biting. When they finally grew bored and wandered off, she crept from her hiding place and approached.
With a sigh, Idras placed a kiss on Lucifer's split, bloody lips. "You are a fool," she whispered. Walking away, she wondered if the comment was for her or Lucifer.
Chapter Seven
Bullshit. The whole fucking situation was total bullshit.
Demons were bad enough. But avenging Angels? "What's next, unicorns and leprechauns?"
Where were these assholes when those monsters tore their parents apart?
Where had they been for the last ten years?
Sam stormed away from the group, cursing under his breath. Breanna may be drinking the Kool-Aid, but he wanted hard proof.