Gideon didn’t have the time to discover. Whatever course Dina had set for herself, she wouldn’t fail and he refused to fail her again. Indeed, death awaited them. Glory wasn’t guaranteed while pain was a certainty.
Dina disappeared just as the screeching ended. A clicking, scurrying sound resonated along with a scraping noise which reminded him of metal striking stone. Dina came back into view, dragging something he couldn’t yet see.
The Spaun jerked around to face her, the vial tilting in his hand.
Gideon raced across the distance as the Spaun and Darklings swarmed, headed to Dina.
He had one chance.
One. Single. Chance.
He stabbed the Spaun, twisted the blade to anchor it and then snatched the vial out of the Spaun’s hand. With his free hand, he sliced across the Spaun’s throat. It wouldn’t end the demon. Only an Empyreal weapon could do—
Holy! Fuck! Clutched in her hand, dragging behind her, an Empyreal sword. By the detail in the pommel—
His Empyreal sword. Executioner, he lovingly named it at the blade’s inception.
Humanity had stolen her angelic strength. She couldn’t wield the blade. But she could tilt it so that the edge pointed upward and glinted in the hazy light.
Gideon hooked the Spaun around the neck. Inky, tar like substance spurted from the gash on its throat. That didn’t stop its teeth from snapping at Gideon’s throat. He fisted its hair and yanked the head back as they fell from the fountain.
Gaze focused on the Executioner, Gideon brought an arm around the Spaun, and angled them both toward the blade. The Spaun thrashed to be free, but Gideon held tight.
“Now, Gideon,” Dina shouted, her arms trembling to hold the blade steady even as Darklings rushed her at her back. Seconds before impact, he forced the Spaun ahead, and heard the crunch. He landed and rolled to his feet in front of Dina, ready to defend her.
The head rolled until it stopped next to Gideon’s boot. He kicked it and the rest of the body into the writhing mass of Darklings.
In a feeding frenzy, the Darklings swarmed the corpse. It wasn’t enough. He flung Dina to the ground and shielded her with his body. Teeth sunk into his shoulder and ripped away a chunk. Normally, Darklings couldn’t ingest grace infused flesh. Laced with his disgrace, his flesh must’ve been a gourmet delicacy because every Darkling wanted a nibble.
A pulse went through the Cruor and its circumference diminished. It was about to close.
Dina screamed and kicked.
In their excitement, the Darklings swarmed over the Executioner, sending it skidding his way. Gideon reached for it, but it was still too far. If he moved, Dina would be exposed.
A weight landed on his back, pinning him and Dina to the spot while the Darklings continued to feed and the Cruor continued to shrink.
Clutching the vial in one hand, and Dina huddling underneath him, they were out of options. Here they would stay. He glanced at Dina’s bloody face.
“Do it. C-close the C-Cruor.” She batted away a Darkling.
Gideon nodded, agreeing with everything she said…and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t trap her here with him.
The injustice of it all: His UnHallowed state, her fallen status and sudden humanity, their impending doom. The anger, hate, and anguish exploded inside him.
Along with a well of power he hadn’t experienced since he was an angel. From the inside out he ignited. A low glow emanated from his skin, not as bright as Dina’s when she had her grace. It was there. The Darklings recoiled and regrouped a few feet away. He was too tasty a treat to abandon without a fight.
Out of arm’s reach, his sword rattled. The connection he never thought he’d feel again, reawakened. His finger tingled for the cool metal, an indescribable itch only his blade could quench. “To my hand!” He called to the Empyreal blade and his sword answered.
The hilt was warm, his palm heated from the contact, yet he did not burn. He climbed to his feet. A wall of Darklings faced him with more pouring out of the alleys and joined in. They swarmed, fighting each other for the next bite.
He gripped the sword and forced his will into the blade. Purifying flames marched down the length of the steel. Gideon raised his weapon and let out a war cry. Darklings came, hundreds, thousands, in numbers too many to count.
Dina climbed to her feet and pressed her back against his. She moved with him, guarding his back as he permanently ended the demons surrounding them.
The Cruor flickered and shrank again. Now, it was no bigger than a baseball diamond.
“Give me the vial!” Dina shouted.
He handed it over and killed another dozen Darklings with a sweep of his blade. “Go for it. I got your back.”
He didn’t need to see her climb up the statue and reach for the Cruor. He knew that’s what she would do because it was what he would do. He backed up and covered her retreat.
“What now?” she screamed.
Gideon risked a glance over his shoulder. How she managed to balance precariously at the highest point of the indiscriminate mound of marble, stretched on her tip-toes, he’d never know.
“Coat the rim of the portal with Braile’s grace,” he shouted. A Darkling reached for her, his claws extended to dig into her thigh. Gideon skewered the demon and flung it away. “Hurry!”
She paused with the vial in her hand and looked over her shoulder. Her anxious gaze snared him. “And then what?”
“You go through. And live.”
Her eyes blazed with determination. “I’m not leaving you, Gideon.”
The Cruor shrank to the size of a postcard. “Do it now, Dina! Now!”
She poured the essence into her palm and smeared the light infused grace around the rim. The earth heaved and pitched Gideon into the air. He rose high enough to see the Cruor suck Dina inside.
But the stubborn human gripped the rim and wouldn’t go. “Gideon! Give me your hand!”
A dozen or more Darklings were between them. They streamed toward the portal. Now that the feast was over, they sought an escape. No better buffet than the mortal realm and the weak-willed humans.
He’d never make it. However, he could prevent them from escaping. His blade aflame, he swept through the throng of Darklings, his blade dangerously close to the portal when she leaned further out.
Too far into the motion, he couldn’t stop the arc of the sword. Not only would it severe her hand, but the purifying flames would burn her alive. So close to having a chance at redemption, she would die, caught between Heaven and Hell.
The end of the blade slapped into her palm.
The flames vanished the instant it touched her skin. She gripped the blade. Blood dripped between her clenched fingers. Below, the Darklings went into a frenzy at the taste of human blood.
“Hold on, Gideon!” She pulled just as he was about to order her to let go. Gideon clutched the hilt of the Executioner, watching the Cruor shrink around the blade.
He wouldn’t make it, it wasn’t possible, but he held on. At the last second before he touched the sliver of Cruor left, he closed his eyes.
Gravity dumped him onto the sidewalk next to an abandoned factory. He didn’t have a chance to ask where, what, why, or how, because his attention was riveted on Dina.
She still had her bloody hand wrapped around the tip of his sword. But cupped in her other hand was Braile’s shimmery essence. That hand she pressed against the remains of the Cruor.
The last energy of the portal to Hell vanished with a spark and the muffled screech of Darklings’ cries.
On wobbly legs, she limped over, and collapsed next to him. She pulled him into her arms and grinned at him. “It’s done. The portal is closed.”
26
“What do you mean you’re leaving? Where are you going?” Chay blocked the doorway to the training center.
Gideon didn’t want to run him over, but Dina waited next to his brand new Ducati Monster. Painted on low-rise jeans hugged a pair of long legs and a heart-shaped a
ss. A cropped leather jacket covered her top and shades covered her eyes, but she watched him. The weight of her gaze burned slowly, sweetly, he’d never tire from it.
A long breath cleared the lust from his brain. Time to go. He wanted to show her another way to fly that didn’t require wings. They were out of here for parts unknown. Maybe they’d stop when they reached the Pacific Ocean, or maybe not. “We’ll be back, Chay. I don’t know when, but we will be back.”
“You can’t just ride off into the sunset. This isn’t a fucking western and you’re not Eastwood.”
Gideon clapped Chay on the shoulder. He leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Do me a favor. Promise you’ll ask Sophie out before we return.”
Chay scowled. “That isn’t an answer. Michael told you to stay put. He wants to know why the Demoni Lords didn’t find you in Hell.”
“The Cruor is closed, sealed with the sacrifice of an Archangel. Dina and I did what we were created to do.” He loved using her words because they were so right. The price they paid was high, yet worth it when he could still hold her, kiss her, and love her for as long as she lived. He’d be damned again if he wasted another second in Michigan.
“Michael’s not gonna find that answer by us staying here. We’ll send him a postcard.” He picked Chay up and physically moved him out of the way. “Now, I’m gonna call Scarla to make sure you ask Sophie out.”
He hopped on the bike and Dina got on behind him. She scooted close and held on tight. The feel of her body snug against his back, her arms holding him tight, hands on his belt buckle for easy access, damn he was going to enjoy this ride. “And I’m cuter than Eastwood ever was.” He gunned the cycle, let the back tire smoke the asphalt, and tore out of the parking lot.
Everything he cared about was on the bike with him. And their future began right now.
The End
Epilogue
Sword raised in a defensive posture, Gemma waited for the first attack to come. Her gaze darted between the four Demoni Lords cornering her inside of a vast cavern. North, East, South, and West, all her exits were blocked. Expecting horns, fangs, malformed bodies, expressing the depravity of the many sins, nothing prepared her for the stunning beauty of their male forms and majestic wings.
The one to her North had hair, darker than a raven with wings and eyes whiter than snow. The one to her East had hair the color of sunset with flame colored wings to match. All of him seemed aflame. The Demoni Lord to her West was bald with leathery skin, abraded patches over chest and abs. He had no wings, yet electricity crackled around him, and burnt ozone scented the air. And last, the one to her south had marbled skin with fiery copper and gossamer spider web wings. A veneer of malevolence shrouded each.
Regardless of their beauty, evil wore many faces, and they would meet their final death beneath the edge of her Empyreal blade.
She hadn’t meant to enter the Cruor, but her lunge to snatch Dina away resulted in epic failure. The Cruor seemed to reach out and suck her inside before she could react. Her rescue mission had left her stranded in Hell. She doubted Dina even knew she was here.
The Lords twitched, their attention alternating between themselves and her. Were they planning something? She couldn’t give them the chance to plan an offensive.
Unable to settle on one, her gaze danced between the Lords. Each were impossibly strong. She’d only have one chance to succeed. This had to work or she would die. Chances were she would die.
I will take some of you with me.
Pondering which one to attack first, she simply asked, “All right. Which one of you will die first?”
The most macabre grin spread across each of their faces. They were eager…and more than ready. Fear snaked up her spine and spread in every direction. She refused to tremble.
Gemma settled into her attack stance and locked her emotions down. This was what she had trained for. One by one, or all together, they would die.
Or she would. She forced her will into her sword, igniting every inch of the blade in flames.
At once, they all charged.
Her battle cry was the last thing she heard.
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Sneak Peek into Only One I Want, book 2!
Chapter 1
Bane kicked the trash out of his way. Another night of hunting. He wasn’t an all-powerful fallen archangel. He was on the lowest rung of the UnHallowed ladder, an ordinary fallen angel of the warrior class. Ten thousand years as a fucking grunt.
He pushed aside his ire, there would be plenty of time during the daylight hours to bitch and plan, and continued his patrol through the silent streets. The absence of humans wasn’t an anomaly; large sections of the city were abandoned. Gothic structures, small homes, factories, houses of worship, many had succumbed to the ravages of time and misuse. The decay of a once great city. The absence of Darklings, that gave him pause. The recent closure of the Cruor–the portal to Hell—hadn’t eliminated the Darkling threat, it just made them more desperate, piggybacked with aggression. Not that Darklings were timid. They were effective weapons of destruction. Practically brainless, they were simpleminded killers, preying on humans with the weakest moral compass otherwise, they would’ve consumed humanity millennia ago. They struck quickly and devoured their prey with equal speed. Others, they fed off for decades, marking the individual’s soul for Hell. Whether consumed in a frenzy or at their leisure, the result was the same—damnation.
Luckily, they were easy to kill. Something Bane excelled at.
So, where were the wispy creatures? The night waned. Nothing stopped time. Morning approached, and with it, his immolation. UnHallowed and sunlight didn’t mix. Their punishment for questioning the Maker. Their disgrace. Where once they were Hallowed, they were now UnHallowed—or worse, Demoni Lords.
In unending darkness is where you shall find refuge and no other place.
He’d spent hours crisscrossing downtown to no avail. Did Darklings go on vacation? He could certainly use one. “To hell with this.” He wasn’t far from Scarla’s training center, Maximum Effort, or Lusted, the bar she owned next door. Chances were Scarla was awake. They could annoy each other over a beer. He pivoted and headed that way. Maybe he could find out who she was dating. Chayyliél would pay in gold for that info. He took the overprotective father stereotype to the next level. Bane didn’t blame him. Scarla was the little sister Bane never had and he’d break any man stupid enough to touch her.
Sulfur permeated the air.
Bane halted. Sulfur meant Darklings. Darklings meant death to the unlucky human who stumbled into their path. So much for calling it an early night. His nose clogged from the concentration of sulfur in the air. Damn, he’d hit the mother lode. Another opportunity to impress Michael.
Redemption had been promised for his nightly routine. His grace restored and a return to the celestial army. He called bullshit on Michael’s promise and turned his back on the human world. Michael couldn’t lie, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. Then Michael promised the one thing Bane truly desired, if he led the UnHallowed back into the fold. Not as celestial beings with their full grace restored—which was what most of the UnHallowed wanted—but as a secondary unit fighting the Darklings. A hard sell that didn’t come close to describing the task.
Most of the UnHallowed chose the shadows rather than venture to this side of reali
ty. They blamed the humans for their fallen state. Bane chose the truth rather than bitter illusions. He liked humans, found their pettiness amusing. He even respected the handful he’d studied during his long existence. Because of that, he wanted what was promised—and more. He wanted his wings restored, elevation of his station to archangel, and leadership of the UnHallowed. He’d settle for nothing less.
Bane followed the scent two blocks over and through a vacant lot to a street of boarded up row houses. He leaned on a broken lamppost, surveying the urban landscape at its bleakest. Sixty years ago, this had been a thriving neighborhood with stay-at-home mothers and kids playing stickball well after the sun had set. The memory triggered a wave of nostalgia he viciously squelched. Too many centuries to stroll down memory lane. That path led to a dead end named insanity.
A crash came from inside the faded red brick structure three houses to his right. Instead of phasing through the brick house and into the middle of the melee, Bane pulled the fabric of the night to him and let the shadows cloak him. He crossed through the conduits and exited in a corner of the living room, his twin blades in his hands, ready to engage.
Except, a female had things well in hand. The head to toe black outfit hid her identity in the same as one of his UnHallowed brethren—and accentuated the swell of her breasts, the sweet flare of her hips, the sensual curve of her ass, and a pair of long, long legs. She had two twelve-inch serrated black blades—similar to his— strapped to her forearms as she faced four Darklings.
Four? A rare occurrence when he usually only found one, two at the most. The creatures appeared as nothing more than black smoke, until they were ready to kill—then they were solid and deadly.
A gentle-hu-man would’ve stepped in and taken over. He was by no means gentle nor could he be mistaken for human. So, he leaned casually against the wall and enjoyed the show.
Only the Fallen (UnHallowed Series Prequel) Page 13