The Veritas

by Wendy Saunders

  The Veritas

  The Guardians Series 2 Book 2

  Wendy Saunders

  Copyright © 2019 by Wendy Saunders

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my stepmother Jan,

  We wasted so many years when we could’ve been friends because we just didn’t know how to talk to each other and when we finally figured it out, I wish we could’ve had more time.

  In memory of

  Jeanette Orde-Archer

  23rd March 1955 - 4th May 2019

  Also by Wendy Saunders

  The Guardians Series 1

  Book 1 Mercy

  Book 2 The Ferryman

  Book 3 Crossroads

  Book 4 Witchfinder

  Book 5 Infernum

  Book 6 A Little Town Called Mercy

  The Guardians Series 2

  Book 1 Scarlett

  Book 2 The Veritas

  The Carter Trilogy

  Book 1 Tangled Web

  Book 2 Twisted lies

  Book 3 Blood Ties

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Coming Soon!

  About the Author

  1

  The light was so bright it was blinding. It should’ve been comforting; a welcome home filled with warmth and softness, but it was not. Instead it was harsh and loud. It prickled against her skin and set a high-pitched whine grating in her ears.

  Scarlett clutched Sam’s limp body closer knowing this was the last time she would ever hold him. His labored heartbeat faltered against her breast and she squeezed tighter, willing whatever strength she had left to pass to him.

  ‘Hold on Sam,’ she closed her eyes, ‘just hold on.’

  She felt the light subside and the ground solidify beneath her. For a second, she was almost too terrified to open her eyes, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt what she would find staring back at her.

  ‘What have you done?’

  She knew that coldly furious voice and her stomach clenched involuntarily in fear. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into the hate filled gaze of Sam’s father.

  Thomas dropped to his haunches beside Sam and grabbed his jaw, turning his head toward him as he gazed upon his son’s face for the first time in centuries, the son he’d believed until recently was dead.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ He turned his accusing eyes on Scarlett as she flinched under the weight of that livid glare.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she whispered, shaking her head in denial, her voice breaking, but she just didn’t have it in her to defend herself. All she could think about was Sam slipping away in her arms. ‘Please help him.’

  ‘Fetch the healers,’ Thomas commanded, but they were already rushing forward, two males and a female dressed in white robes. Thomas stood and backed up as the female dropped to her knees and placed her hand on Sam’s forehead. Scarlett watched as a small golden light appeared beneath the woman’s hand and then disappeared.

  ‘He is gravely ill my lord,’ she looked up at Thomas. ‘I will do what I can.’

  Thomas nodded stiffly.

  Before she knew what was happening Scarlett felt Sam being pulled roughly from her arms and placed on a stretcher. They bustled from the room with the female hurrying along behind them.

  Sam was gone. Her arms felt strangely weightless, despite feeling like the rest of her body was weighed down with lead. She sat listlessly on the deep, heavily embroidered, crimson and gold rug. She paid little mind to her surroundings knowing that the rest of the room would be similarly attired with heavy, almost gaudy furnishings.

  She looked wildly out of place with her wild tangled hair, her bare, dirty feet and hands. She still wore the jeans and shirt she’d thrown on in haste back in Vegas, her jeans now ripped and smeared with dirt. There was a large gaping hole surrounded with dried blood on her T-shirt where Ash had stabbed her.

  For a second her mouth twisted into a thin, bitter line as her thoughts drifted back to her brother, even knowing he was the least of her problems right now.

  ‘If he dies, you’ll pay in blood,’ a deep voice growled.

  Scarlett looked up and recognized the face belonging to the disgusted voice.

  ‘Marcus,’ she whispered.

  His lips peeled back and he almost snarled.

  ‘You dare to speak my name, filthy creature.’

  ‘Be very careful Marcus,’ a cool voice spoke calmly.

  Scarlett looked over and her heart almost stopped at the sight of Azariel slowly sipping from a deep, golden goblet.

  ‘Regardless of the situation,’ Azariel continued, ‘she is still an Angel. Watch your tongue or one of these days someone might just remove it for you.’

  Marcus growled and took a step forward, only to have Thomas’s hand on his chest still his movements.

  ‘Patience brother,’ Thomas spoke in a low voice, ‘his time will come.’

  ‘You both forget your place,’ another voice interrupted angrily. ‘You are here to serve the will of Heaven, not to question your superiors.’

  ‘Thackery,’ Marcus hissed, ‘you are not my superior.’

  ‘You think not?’ he sneered. ‘God created us first, he gave us position, power, and what did he give you?’

  ‘Enough,’ Azariel sipped his wine almost nonchalantly, enjoying the way Marcus’s vein bulged and throbbed in his temple with barely concealed anger.

  Scarlett recognized all the players in the room and knew enough to keep her mouth shut. Thomas stood to her right. He was the Principle Sentinel, the oldest and most powerful of them, and they were loyal to him to a fault. He was tall, sturdily built and still a handsome man, although his temples bore streaks of grey in amongst the jet black. His deep blue eyes didn’t light with curiosity and mischief the way Sam’s did. No, his eyes burned a cold blue and to be caught in that gaze was to be stripped bare, right down to her soul. He looked so similar to his son, except the dimples which appeared in Sam’s cheeks whenever he smiled, had deepened on Thomas, so they were now deeply etched creases bracketing his mouth. Still, it was disconcerting to look into the face of her enemy and see an echo of the man she loved in his father’s features.

  Marcus stood at his side, like any good second-in-command and anyone with eyes could see the genetic similarity. Although the Sentinels all called each other brother, in Thomas and Marcus’s case it was true. Marcus had just as much reason to hate Scarlett as Thomas did. If it wasn’t enough that she was carrying the weight of her mother’s betrayal as her legacy, the fact that they believed she was responsible for Sam’s disappearance and injury didn’t do her any favors.

  No, she would not find any sympathy from their kind.

  To her left stood Azariel; he was even older than Thomas. He stood at the very apex of the Council of nine, the highest authority amongst the Angels. Nothing transpired in Heaven without their express permission. To his side stood Thackery, a
low born Angel who rose quickly through the ranks during the betrayal of Lucifer and the war which followed. Notorious for his sheer brutality and lack of anything even remotely resembling empathy made him the perfect assassin and executioner.

  But if she thought she would find any sympathy from her own kind, she was kidding herself on that score. They wanted her dead even more than the Sentinels did. The only thing keeping her alive was that they believed she had possession of something they wanted desperately.

  Caelum… The book of the Heavens.

  Her gaze flickered nervously between the four powerful men glaring hatefully at each other. The room was filled with an almost palpable tension. It was like being in a sealed room filled with gasoline fumes, one tiny, inadvertent spark and the whole building would explode.

  She’d heard rumors, whispers, that Heaven was on the brink of civil war, but this was worse than she’d imagined. Azariel and Thomas had given up even the slightest guise of civility toward each other; their naked hostility was as clear as glass.

  Her heart was pounding, her palms sweaty. Her legs prickled uncomfortably from being folded underneath her for so long, but she dared not move, dared not draw their attention.

  A sudden knock at the huge ornate doors broke the deadlock between Azariel and Thomas. It was only then Scarlett noticed the small unobtrusive servant stationed by the door, so quiet and mouse-like she hadn’t even noted his presence. She watched tensely as he leaned forward and twisted the heavy, gilded handle and slowly drew the door open.

  Her heart jolted for a second when she recognized one of the healers who’d taken Sam.

  He stepped closer to Thomas and whispered something. Scarlett found herself unconsciously leaning forward trying to catch any word of Sam’s condition, but his voice was too low. Thomas nodded curtly and the man disappeared back through the door. She studied Thomas’s face carefully, but his expression gave nothing away. She was almost tempted to ask, to say something, anything. Not knowing what was happening to Sam was excruciating. The words danced on the edge of her tongue and her hands fisted restlessly by her sides, but she kept her mouth resolutely shut.

  She was in enough danger right now without reminding Thomas of her tie to his son. She would have to find another way.

  Suddenly Thomas’s eyes locked on hers and she felt a sly trickle of fear dance down her spine. His withering gaze held hers for a fraction of a second before turning to Azariel.

  ‘I am needed elsewhere,’ he told them flatly.

  ‘Of course,’ Azariel gave an oily smile.

  Thomas stepped closer as his voice dropped low.

  ‘Do not forget our agreement Azariel,’ he warned, ‘the girl is not to be questioned unless we are both present.’

  ‘Thomas,’ Azariel’s voice was deceptively mild, but his eyes burned darkly, ‘I haven’t forgotten… anything.’

  That one word had the unmistakable ring of a veiled threat and Scarlett’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in a pissing match between Azariel and Thomas, the two most powerful and dangerous beings within Heaven’s borders, but now she had no choice. Caught like a chew toy between two vicious dogs, she was afraid they would tear her to shreds before this was over.

  Thomas stalked from the room closely followed by Marcus, leaving her alone, finally, with the one man she’d been running from for nearly two thousand years.

  Scarlett swallowed tightly as Azariel’s eyes fell on her. She’d expected him to speak, to gloat, to threaten, anything but this cold, deliberate silence.

  Suddenly she felt her arms grabbed roughly as she was yanked to her feet. The blood rushed back to her numb legs and she stumbled. Feeling her arms wrenched painfully back, she bit her lip to stop from crying out in pain. She hadn’t seen the two guards enter the room, but they now stood either side of her, their fingers pinching the flesh of her upper arms so tightly it bruised.

  Azariel approached, his step the slow even gait of a man who had all the time in the world. He stopped in front of her, his long thin, tapered fingers reaching for her jaw.

  The touch of his hand made her skin crawl. His fingers were ice cold and as dry as parchment as he held her face, studying her carefully as if she were some kind of specimen. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably.

  His voice, when he finally spoke, was as icy as his fingers and his dark eyes filled with a dreadful, almost malicious glee.

  ‘Welcome home Scarlett…’

  Her bare feet slapped against the cold, polished floor. She could barely keep up with their purposeful stride as they dragged her down deserted hallways and corridors. It hadn’t escaped her notice that they were using the least used passageways; it was obvious Azariel didn’t want too many people knowing she’d returned.

  Her stomach clenched once again. If barely anyone knew they had her, it meant Azariel and Thomas could do whatever they wanted to her and there would be no one to stop them.

  If she could somehow get word to Gabriel or even her dear friend Vince, the only human soul to have been afforded the honor of dwelling amongst the Angels. But any hope of that died as soon as they began their descent into a corridor long since used, and now widely avoided.

  Instinctively Scarlett dug her heels in and pulled her weight back.

  ‘No,’ her eyes widened as she shook her head violently. ‘NO!’

  The guards didn’t speak, didn’t give any outward signs of emotion or even acknowledgement. Their grip on her upper arms tightened painfully as they jerked her forward, dragging her down the steps which had changed from the cool, highly polished marble to rough-hewn gray stone. Her feet scrambled, scratched and grazed, causing bloodied welts to form as she fought against them. The panic rising in her chest was like a fluttering, caged bird dashing itself bloody against her rib cage.

  ‘NO!’ she screamed again.

  She pulled and wrenched in desperation. Finally, with a grunt of annoyance, one of the guards turned and cracked her across the face with the back of his fist. She felt her head snap back and the world spun as she slumped forward.

  They more or less carried her down the seeming endless flight of stairs. When they finally reached the bottom Scarlett blinked, trying to focus around the painful throb of her cheekbone. They were in a long corridor; the walls were bare masonry with smoky braziers set deep into the stone. The waxy tallow candles had melted and dripped down the walls. Each time they were replaced it added layer upon layer of greasy looking wax, until they looked like grotesque gargoyles trying to claw their way through the stone walls.

  The corridor seemed to stretch out before them, endless, and nothing but rough gray stone and twisted metal and wax.

  They marched down the corridor with her suspended awkwardly between them. She had no leverage, no purchase to try and break free. They were bigger and stronger than she was. The more she squirmed the tighter they held on, almost cutting off the blood circulation to her arms.

  In the distance at the end of the long corridor was a single door, heavy unadorned metal and pitted with age. There was one symbol etched deeply into the metal like a scar, a symbol every angel was familiar with.

  The panic returned full force, rising in her throat until it was almost choking her. She thrust and twisted her body, trying to break their grip on her. But it was no use, they pushed the door open with a grating squeal which set her teeth on edge.

  The room was bare but for a single heavy chair with chains at its center and suspended above it was an ominous metal frame, which seemed to serve no purpose.

  They wrestled her into the chair, chaining her arms and legs. She hissed at the sudden pain in her wrists and looked down in dismay to find thick metal cuffs inscribed with glowing letters. A trickle of blood oozed from beneath the cuff where thin, cruel looking spikes bit into her flesh. Blue tentacles began to creep out from under the cuff, like ink stains, following the path of her veins.

  Her arms felt like they were on fire. Sweat bloomed on her brow as she dragged in a deep b
reath, fighting the wave of heat blasting through her body. She heard a heavy clang and a smooth well-oiled click and when she looked up the guards were standing behind a small barred window on the other side of the locked door.

  She caught sight of a smirk and then the cover grated shut, plunging her into darkness. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

  For a moment she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. The walls began to glow with an eerie blue phosphorescence, as letters began to appear, scratched deeply and untidily into the stone itself.

  The language was ancient. There were very few left who knew it, fortunately she was one of them. Her mother had taught her many things during their time in hiding on earth.

  She glanced slowly around the room. They were sigils and spells, some pretty heavy-duty warding, but it wasn’t designed to keep something out. It was much worse; it was designed to keep something in.

  Her gaze fell back on the locked door in front of her. A glowing symbol slowly appeared, and her stomach clenched so tightly she was afraid she would vomit. She knew that brand. It was the mark of the Morning Star.

  They had locked her in Lucifer’s cage.

  2

  Sam shivered, a deep wracking shudder which almost rocked the bed he’d been carefully placed in. His eyes rolled back as his head lolled from side to side, an unintelligible mutter on his dry lips.

  Aalia leaned closer, placing her cool palm against his burning forehead. Her brow folded unconsciously in concentration; her dark eyes distant. A warm golden light once again emanated from her palm, glowing against Sam’s damp skin. She reached down by his side, grasping his clammy hand and folding it in her own smaller, slender one, as she rested their joined hands on his chest. The same strange glow pulsed between their joined palms and slowly Sam began to drift into a more restful sleep.