The Slayer

by Brenda Huber

  It all happened so quickly, and yet it all seemed to go in slow motion. The dreadlocked demon reached out to grasp the angel’s wings. The angel, now aware of the additional threat, twisted but couldn’t get away as the Earth below him trembled and heaved. Xander thrust her behind him and slashed out with his own sword, severing the demon’s hand from his body, the hand that had latched on to Gabriel’s wing.

  The dismembered hand tumbled to the grass and burst into ash. Screeching in agony, the dreadlocked demon—Agares, she now recalled—cradled his handless arm to his chest and vanished. Rolling to his feet, Gabriel stared at Xander, wary. Watchful. His sword at the ready.

  “What trick is this?” Gabriel watched them carefully, but he didn’t attack. Not yet.

  Kyanna wanted to run her hands over Xander, wanted to visually search his body, make sure he hadn’t sustained any wounds while trying to protect her. She was a liability to him right now. She knew that. That was why she didn’t resist whenever he pushed her or pulled her this way or that. She couldn’t risk distracting him, not even for a moment.

  “This is no trick,” Xander panted, swiping his forearm over his sweating brow, even as he pushed her behind him once more, keeping a defensive arm between her and the angel. “I don’t want you dead, Gabriel. Despite what you may believe. This is a warning. For all of you. Come near my woman again, try to harm her in any way, and I will kill you, angel or not.”

  “The law was given. Her kind are not allowed to live.”

  “The law was made by you and by Michael.” Xander lowered his sword and his dagger, though he remained tense, ready to explode into action at the slightest threat. “And we both know why.”

  Gabriel bellowed and launched himself at Xander, sword swinging, bloodlust in his eyes. But before he could engage in lethal combat, another pack—or horde or nest or whatever it was that Xander had called them—of demons appeared all around them. Xander scanned them, even as he spun about to wrap both arms around Kyanna.

  Xander growled, “Dimiezlo.”

  Kyanna stared at the bizarre creature. It looked like a mishmash of eclectic parts. Goat legs, a bald horned head, furry arms, and a snake’s tongue. He carried an unconscious woman over one shoulder. Her hair was long, flowing nearly to the ground behind him, and she wore nothing but a sheer white robe. One of the other demons that had arrived with him took one look around the embattled meadow and snarled, “Stolas didn’t say nothing about fighting no damned angels.” And then he disappeared.

  “Stolas!” Xander swore aloud at that pronouncement.

  Just as the bottom of her stomach began to fall away, she felt Xander jolt in her arms, his back arched and he hissed in a sharp breath. And then everything around her went gray, and her stomach dropped.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kyanna stumbled back as Xander’s weight sagged against her. Then he righted himself, giving her the chance to look around them. This place was completely unfamiliar to her. It looked medieval. The walls were damp gray stone with rusty iron rings and chains nailed into them at sporadic intervals, the floor beneath her feet dirty rock. The air was musty and dank. The scene was complete with flaming iron torches anchored to the walls here and there.

  “Are we in a dungeon?” she whispered.

  Xander’s chest heaved, and she realized he was struggling to catch his breath. Panic squeezed her in a death grip.

  “Are you all right?” he ground out.

  “Xander, are you hurt?” Her hands flew to his chest, skimmed his sides, and drew back covered in blood. Horrified, she stared first at her splayed hands, then up at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. “The stone…we have to get you to the stone!”

  “Damn it, are you all right?” He gripped her shoulders. She could only nod in response, and, once she did, his body sagged. Relief slackened his features for a moment. And then he tensed, yelling out in a hoarse voice, “Asher!”

  “Xander,” she insisted, holding her hands up for his inspection. “You’re bleeding! You have to—”

  “Slayer?”

  Gasping, spinning around, Kyanna gawked. Another demon had shimmered into the dungeon with them. Not quite as tall as Xander, he was as yet unarmed, but still packed with solid muscle and more than a little intimidating. And Xander was hurt. She was frantic. She fumbled and wrenched the dagger from Xander. She jumped in front of him, and shoved the blade up threateningly at the newcomer.

  “Just stay back,” she warned.

  He raised a jet black brow and regarded her with deep chocolate brown eyes, obviously amused. The torchlight glistened on the sheen of sweat coating his mocha-colored skin. He wore black fatigues, combat boots, and a snow white muscle shirt.

  “You better put that thing away before you hurt yourself, baby girl.”

  At the same moment, Xander reached around her and gently closed his hand over hers on the hilt, forcing her arms down. “Asher is a…friend,” he gasped against her ear, hesitating only the slightest bit on the last word.

  Once the blade, as well as the sword, were tucked away and vanished respectively, Asher crossed his arms. “Why did you come here?”

  “Need a favor.” Xander cut to the chase.

  “You couldn’t pick up the phone? You had to invade my space uninvited?” He wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t shy about letting them know it.

  “No time,” Xander breathed. And once again, she was reminded of his injuries. How severe were they? How long would it take before he began healing?

  Why wasn’t he healing already?

  “The favor,” Xander prompted.

  “What is it?” Asher stroked his goatee with one hand, adding, “You know I don’t work for free.”

  “You must guard Kyanna. Keep her safe at all cost. You must swear to me no harm will come to her. And after the battle is over, take her to Sebastian.”

  “You keep me safe,” Kyanna insisted, whirling around to glare at him. She didn’t like the looks of this situation. Or this demon.

  “No time,” he told her. “I have to go back. Now.”

  “What? No, you’re hurt. You can’t—”

  “The others need me. Can’t abandon them.”

  Even as that statement stung, she knew he was right. She’d seen how swarm after swarm of demons kept appearing. How viciously those angels had fought. And Sebastian was already hurt. In the time they’d stood here talking, had another of his friends been wounded? Or worse yet, been cut down?

  Asher regarded him with obvious annoyance. “I’m a little busy right now. It’ll cost you more.”

  “Don’t care how much,” Xander rasped. His grip on her tightened when she began to object.

  Asher weighed Xander’s words. Then a wholly evil grin worked its way across his face and he flashed even white teeth. Apprehension balled in Kyanna’s gut. Something frightening was going on behind those dark, dark eyes. And she suddenly wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. In fact, whatever this demon would ask for was going to be, most assuredly, way too costly.

  “I will come to you one day and ask for your help. And you’re going to give it to me. Without qualification, without hesitation. You will do everything in your considerable power to help me.” An ancient parchment appeared from nowhere, hovering in the air near Xander. “Do we have a deal?”

  Kyanna frowned up at him, shaking her head. But he’d already swiped his hand over his bleeding side. Before she could stop him, he slapped his bloody handprint to the parchment, and then the parchment disappeared.

  “Xander, no.”

  “Too late,” he said. “It’s done.”

  He turned her into his arms and pressed a kiss first to her mouth, then to her forehead. His attention focused solely on her. He appeared so serious, stared at her so intensely, it was as if he’d completely forgotten Asher was in the room with them.

  “How do you
feel?”

  “What?”

  “Damn it, Kyanna, answer me. How do you feel? Do you feel weakened at all? Dizzy?”

  “No. I feel fine.”

  Again, his expression was relieved.

  “Xander, what—”

  “You’re going to be just fine,” he cut her off, his voice filled with relief.

  “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. You’re hurt—”

  “I’ll be fine too.” He did that shivery-shrug thing he did whenever his lie radar went off. She’d picked up on that tell too. Worry swamped her. His fingers tightened on her shoulders when she opened her mouth to challenge him. “You have to go with Asher now. I’ll come for you, just as soon as I know the others are okay.”

  And then he did that shiver-shrug thing again. He didn’t believe he would come for her. He didn’t think he was going to make it.

  Before she could argue, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Too fast it was over, and he was pulling away, urging her toward the demon she didn’t know. The demon she didn’t want to go with.

  “You better come for me,” she warned him, struggling to force courage into her threat. “Or I’ll come after you and curse you with the worst enchantment I can find.”

  Those seldom seen but much loved grooves dug into his cheeks. Beside her, Asher did a double take. There were so many things she should have told Xander before now. Before she could give in to the urge to run back into his arms, Asher’s hands closed over her shoulders. Strong and unyielding. And suddenly, the air near Xander wavered.

  Kyanna sucked in a breath, choking on a scream, even as the demon beside her began swearing.

  “You led an angel here, Slayer? That’s gonna cost you extra.”

  In that same moment, Xander spun, drawing his blade. But he was too late. Gabriel’s sword was already in hand. She struggled with all her might, sobbing his name. But Asher’s grip was unrelenting. The last thing Kyanna saw before Asher shimmered her away was the sight of Gabriel’s flaming blade thrusting into Xander’s stomach and exiting his back.

  Stolas slammed his fist into the granite wall. Dust plumed and the Great Hall shook. He roared, raking his extended claws over the surface, leaving behind deep gashes. The other occupants in the room quaked, but still they remained on their knees, heads bowed, arms crossed, trembling fists pressed to their shoulders.

  Only one stood among them. Agares cradled his mutilated arm and watched this unbridled display of fury, his expression impassive. If he’d had any sense, he too would be on his knees…or not have shown his face this side of Hell for the next millennia. They had failed him yet again. All of them.

  He overturned the table on the raised dais. The one designated for his Earthen treasures. But his anger was such that he no longer cared. Trinkets and weapons flew through the air, scattering across the floor. Some bounced. Some shattered. Glade exploded, splattering precious scented liquid across the floor. The loss of one of his favorite offerings only fueled his fury.

  He picked up the lightweight gun, he crushed it in his fist, uncaring whether or not it contained holy water. Liquid dribbled down his wrist and forearm. But no burn. And that too added kindling to his fire. If they were going to bring him a damned weapon, the least they could do was bring a useful one.

  And then he came to iPods. All of them broken. Smashed into tiny, shiny pieces. He roared once more, turning his fury on the closest Charocté. Flames erupted from the cowering demon’s eyes and poured from its mouth choking off the tortured screams. In seconds, the demon vaporized, rupturing from within.

  Not nearly satisfying enough. Another servant exploded. And another. And still he couldn’t contain his wrath. The Guardian—a Halfling that may have been strong enough to conceive and carry demon spawn to term—had eluded them. The relic was gone. The Slayer had escaped him once more. And, adding insult to injury, his minions also had a shot at the rest of the Fallen. He could have had all five of them in one fell swoop. The Seer, the Slayer, Vengeance, Temptation, and War. But his worthless followers had failed.

  And, not only had they failed him, but they’d also given up his identity. Dimiezlo was certain the Slayer had heard one of his minions utter his name aloud. His enemies now knew that he was the one staging the greatest coup in history. If Lucifer found out—

  Two more Charocté exploded.

  “That’s going to get awfully expensive,” Agares calmly intoned.

  Spinning about, he hissed. “You—” He was so livid, he could barely form coherent words. “You had an angel’s wings in your hand. Not only did you lose the wings, but you lost your own hand as well, you worthless gnaéchtoïrapta. I should send you to Oblivion. I should—”

  “Ah-ah, cousin.” Agares tsked, shaking his head. “A few missing Charocté are hardly noteworthy. However, should one of his Generals suddenly disappear, you can be sure Lucifer will most definitely start asking questions. Lots of very uncomfortable questions.”

  Another Charocté exploded. Just to make a point. Stolas refused to let this weakling intimidate him, or blackmail him. Neither was he ready to give up on his aspirations to overthrow Lucifer. He’d been born to rule. Born to walk the Earth and enslave all humanity. The Fallen might have managed to get their hands on one of the relics. But the scrolls and the Chosen One were still fair game. Besides, he still had the sword.

  And he’d heard rumors that the Demon of Temptation was slipping toward the abyss. Perhaps, with the right…persuasion, Temptation might be made to see the benefits of a new regime. It would be to his benefit to have a spy amongst the Fallen. It would certainly make things much easier when the time came to get his hands on the Arc Stone.

  Yes, this could work. The Fallen might have won this round, but they would not win the war.

  “Get out,” Stolas barked. “All of you. Get out now. All”—he qualified, pointing his claw-tipped finger at Dimiezlo—“but you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kyanna stood at the sink, staring despondently out the window. Blurs of brilliant color made her blink, but she stared anyway. Reminders of him were everywhere. So much bittersweet longing filled her. The raw pain, the devastating grief was still so fresh she found it hard to function at times. At those moments, she often found herself staring out this window. How many times had Xander stared out this window? Had he, when building this cabin, deliberately positioned the window because of this exact view? Every time she thought of him, every time something reminded her of him in any way—which was nearly everything—it felt like a dagger were ripping through her chest. But she couldn’t ignore the memories or the pain, and she couldn’t pretend she’d be fine…someday.

  She missed Xander.

  The sudden sound of movement behind her barely perked her interest. “Gideon.” She sighed. “I don’t want to go anywhere else, so please stop asking. I told you yesterday and again a few hours ago. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Silence met her request.

  She appreciated Gideon’s concern. His attitude might be a bit surly at times, but certainly no worse than Mikhail’s on a good day. Still, he and the others didn’t need to keep checking in on her like this. The angels hadn’t bothered her since the battle in the meadow, nor had the demons.

  The battle in which she’d lost everything important to her…

  “Kyanna.”

  Everything inside her froze. Great! Now she was hallucinating.

  Unable to stop herself, knowing she was only setting herself up for crushing disappointment, she slowly pivoted.

  The coffee mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tile at her feet. She paid the shards no heed, nor the coffee pooling at her feet. For a moment, her vision wavered as she stared at the ghost before her. She groped blindly for the counter and braced herself as her knees turned to mush.

  “Xander?” she whispered, afraid the figment of
her imagination would disappear if she so much as blinked.

  He looked so real, real enough to reach out and touch. Heaven help her, her sanity couldn’t take much more of this. Xander was gone. Lost to her with an angel’s sword buried deep in his belly.

  The others hadn’t been able to offer her hope. An angel’s sword, a Blade of Justice, was deadly to a demon, though they did say he had a slim chance of surviving.

  A slim chance.

  Night after night of loneliness had convinced her that “a slim chance” hadn’t been in the cards for them.

  Day after day of heartache—and that shiver-shrug tell of Xander’s—had convinced her Xander knew he would not make it. And he’d sent her away rather than let her stay with him at the end.

  A slim chance.

  Well, she didn’t believe it. There was no way he could have survived that. No way at all. And the loss of him had shaken her faith. Sebastian, having dropped in unexpectedly on what was to be the first of innumerable drop-ins, had prevented her from burning the book and hurling the Arc Stone into the river. And he’d gone one step further, surprising her to no end. When she’d broken down, sobbing for Xander, Sebastian had simply held her until she’d cried herself out.

  She’d stayed on at the cabin. She had nowhere else to go. Summer had tried to convince her to come back to Isle when Kyanna had phoned her to let her know she was all right. She’d tried to talk Kyanna into staying with her and Duff since her business and home had inexplicably burned to the ground.

  But Summer didn’t understand, didn’t know the danger Kyanna would bring with her. And so she’d begun distancing herself from those she’d come to know and love in Isle, choosing instead to live like a hermit in Xander’s cabin. She’d kept the book. Kept the stone, as was her duty. She protected them with enchantments and ward stones, just as she had always done. She’d had no other choice. Gideon and the others had refused to take them, though they continued to shimmer to the cabin to check on her now and again.