by Alisa Woods
The fighting ceased as soon as they took Erelah.
Leksander had fought his way past Tajael, but now he just stood in the middle of the balcony staring up at the empty air where Erelah had been, moments ago, swarmed by a dozen dark angelings and whisked away. He could hardly believe it. His rage was just starting to work through the stunned fog of his brain.
She loved him.
And now she was gone.
“What the fucking hell was that?” he finally spat out, venting his anger toward Razael, the shadow angel who was apparently her father. He had just landed on the balcony next to Leksander. His angelings still filled the air, but the attackers had disappeared.
“That was Elyon and his Regiment,” Razael said. His voice was even, but his power still electrified the air, as it had been when he was fighting the other angel.
“They have Erelah.” Leksander ran both hands through his hair, trying not to panic. How could he fight a Regiment of angelings? “We have to go after them!” Surely, Razael would want to rescue his daughter.
Tajael came up behind Leksander, his head still bloodied. “She is pledged to Razael’s Regiment,” he said, as if he was explaining this to Leksander, but his measured gaze was on Razael and the murderous storm gathering on his face. “They should have killed her.”
“What?” Leksander turned to Tajael. “But they… they just took her. Right?”
“Right,” Tajael said, coolly, still looking to Razael. “The question is why.”
“They might turn her.” Razael’s flash of power that boomed the air left no doubt as to his thoughts on that. “Did they recognize you?” he asked Tajael.
Leksander turned a puzzled look to Tajael, but then he remembered—the angeling who attacked Erelah had called him by name. “How do you know these guys?” he demanded of Tajael.
He grimaced. “I was pledged to Elyon for a time.” He twisted his torso to show the tattoos on his chest. They weren’t as extensive as Razael’s, but looking around, Leksander could see that every angeling gathered on the platform had the same tattoo, a simplified version of the one inked across Razael’s chest. But Tajael’s was different. He turned back to Razael. “They have to wonder why I’m here. An angel of light…”
“And yet they did not kill you.” Razael frowned.
“Wait a minute,” Leksander said. “If light and shadow are such enemies, then why did they take Erelah and not…” He stalled out.
“And not me?” Tajael finished for him. “An excellent question.” He turned back to Razael. “Elyon or any of his Regiment would have surely killed me on sight if they didn’t have a singular purpose already.”
“They came for her.” Razael’s dark expression was shaking the air again. “Tell me more of this treaty. I knew of its existence when I was still in the light, but how does Erelah factor in this? And why would the shadow realm be involved?”
Tajael glanced at Leksander, but he just gestured for Tajael to explain. He knew of Leksander’s love as well as anyone, and Leksander needed to hear the angel side. Actually, he was desperate to go after Erelah, but he would need the help of Razael’s Regiment, so he let Tajael take the lead.
“Leksander requires a mate for the treaty to renew,” Tajael explained. “He wishes for Erelah to be that mate, but as you know, a True Love is required. Something an angeling cannot provide…” He glanced at Leksander. “Although I’m not entirely sure about that now.”
“Erelah has True Love of him?” Razael asked, his power thrumming the air.
Leksander didn’t know if that would be a problem for her angel father, but he didn’t care. The idea that Erelah loved him made his heart race. Was it True Love? He couldn’t imagine her, his angeling of righteousness, having any other kind. “Yes,” he answered, all his joy and fear pouring into that one word. All along, that was the one thing—the only thing—that could keep him from her. If she could love him, then all things were possible. He just had to bring her safely home and work out the details. But he would make it happen.
“But she is in shadow,” Razael said to Tajael, his wings twitching as he spoke.
“If she were to return to the light…” Tajael raised his hands, a gesture of uncertainty. “This is uncharted territory. But if there were ever an angeling who could master her shadow impulse and return, it would be Erelah. You don’t know her, Razael, but your wisdom and strength shine in her. She has always been special. An angel in disguise.”
Leksander frowned, not sure what that meant, but the cloud of doubt on Razael’s face was his enemy right now. “Just give me a chance with her. Please. You can’t leave her with this Elyon and his dark Regiment!”
“No, we will not abandon her.” He turned his frown to Tajael. “But I would know the manner of the trap into which we are flying.”
Tajael nodded. “Something isn’t right about this. They targeted her. They knew she was here, and they came for her and took her. Why? Especially knowing you would come after her.”
“She summoned me with her blade,” Razael said, his wings giving a slow, long beat as he considered this. “They would have sensed her. They would have sensed my lineage upon her. It could merely be vengeance. Elyon fell long ago and has loathed humanity and angels of the light ever since. He believes God loves humans more than angels, in spite of his angel creatures giving everything to live God’s Virtues. Elyon fell from Wrath, and he is consumed by it, constantly.”
“But if vengeance were all he sought,” Tajael countered, “then Erelah’s body would be broken and bloodied before you. Trust me, I’m familiar with his signature moves.”
Razael nodded. “He must want to put her to some other purpose.”
“Nothing good, I’m sure.” Tajael grimaced.
“Enough,” Leksander said, his fists curling to contain his frustration. “Let’s go now!”
Tajael nodded to Razael. “Agreed. They may yet destroy her, or worse. Time is against us.” He turned to Leksander. “But you must remain here, dragon prince.”
“What? No. Absolutely not.” No way in hell they were leaving him behind.
“Your blade will be of singular use, Tajael,” Razael said.
Tajael nodded. “My blade of light will be particularly deadly, but I’ll also attract the greatest interest from Elyon’s Regiment.”
“My angelings will have your back.” He flicked a signal to his gathered Regiment, and an energy buzzed through them, wings whispering as they lifted into the air. He rose slightly with them.
“I’m am going,” Leksander hissed to Tajael. “Don’t even think about leaving me behind.”
Tajael pulled him back from where Razael floated, giving instructions to his Regiment. “I cannot protect you in another angel’s domain,” Tajael said in a hushed voice. “I can barely protect you here.”
“I don’t need protection,” he growled.
“Of course, you do.” He took Leksander by the shoulders. “This will be difficult enough without you to guard as well. Do you wish for Erelah’s safe return? Then ensure our success by not being stubborn. You do not have the power to fight this, Leksander.”
Shit. Tajael really wasn’t going to take him. He shoved off Tajael’s hands and turned to the angel hovering above them. “Razael!” Leksander raised his voice to be heard over the thrumming of magic growing in the air. “You said Elyon loathes humanity. Well, the fate of humanity rests in my hands. If he wants to fuck up humanity, then there’s no better way than killing me, right now, before I can mate and spawn a dragonling.”
Razael hovered down to land on the platform again. “Yes.”
“Let me be the target.” Leksander straightened, head held high. “I’ll need a host of your angelings to protect me because I have every intention of living a long time and loving Erelah to the best of my ability. Whether she’s shadow or light makes no difference to me. Her love is all I need, and now that I have it, I will fight for it.”
Razael slowly nodded then looked to Tajael. “His Tru
e Love will be easily sensed. The diversion of the dragon prince attacking to regain his mate has the advantage of being truth.”
Tajael let out a long sigh. “At least a dozen angelings need to guard him at all times. I’ll have to attack with the others if I’m to be effective.”
“Agreed.” Razael lifted into the air again, and his angelings were already separating into groups.
Tajael shook his head at Leksander. “You really need to try not to die, Leksander.”
“I’ll do my best.” He swallowed. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew how badly outgunned he was in this fight.
A host of black-winged angelings descended upon them both, surrounding them. Tajael motioned one forward and said, “Protect this one with your life. Or I’ll find you with my blade.”
The angeling gave him a dirty look, but he placed a heavy hand on Leksander’s shoulder.
Tajael leaped into the air, not looking back as he joined Razael and the others grouping into assault teams.
Leksander faced the angeling who was charged with keeping him alive. He looked far too young, like he was barely out of his teens, but then it was hard to tell age with angelings. His eyes were the kind that had seen too much. “You have a name?”
“Asa,” the angeling said, and he gave a nod to the others gathered around Leksander. They drew closer. Asa looked back to him. “And we do not need to be friends, dragonling.”
Leksander gritted his teeth. “Just keep me alive long enough to rescue Razael’s daughter.”
“That is the plan.” Although Asa was saying it to the others, not him.
Then the world disappeared in a wrenching of time and space and light.
Erelah struggled against the hands that held her.
She couldn’t see much—she was enveloped in the bodies and wings of her shadow angeling captors—but she knew they had traveled. The only question was where… and what did they intend for her?
The slash in her wing screamed in protest as she thrashed against their hold, but then suddenly, she was released and falling. The black floor rushed up at her, and she landed hard on her side, but thankfully on her uninjured wing. She scrambled to get her feet under her, preparing to leap into the air and flee, but she had barely moved before something cracked the air then snaked around her, wrapping tight. She fought it, staggering to her feet—she was tethered to something—but a thick, black rope had already wound several times around her body, trapping her arms to her sides. She tried twisting to open an interdimensional portal, but the rope cut off her magic, like the golden bindings the fae had used to capture her. Her wings were still free, and though one was wounded, she tried lifting into the air, only to be yanked back down.
The rope was held by someone… she finally stopped thrashing and looked to the source.
“You,” she hissed. It was the same shadow angeling who had attacked her in that alley in Seattle. Short brown hair. Bright blue eyes. Young-looking, but that only meant he was still in his first century. He had markings like Tajael on his chest, what she could see of them. Unlike the other angelings, hovering in the air above her and wearing simple black togas, this one was dressed for combat—black leather boots and gauntlets ribbed with metal, a short hooded jacket of similar black leather strapped tight across the front, and dark pants slung low on his hips. His midsection alone was bare, showing the inky tattoos of his Regiment.
“You’ll wish I had killed you in that alley,” he said coolly, his expression as inscrutable as an angel’s.
Then a true angel rose from below the platform behind him. He was immense, even larger than the manifestation her father wore. “But then we’d be robbed of today’s entertainment, Micah,” the angel said as he slowly drifted down to stand next to the angeling.
His angel voice boomed around the cavern. It must be vast—Erelah heard three distinct echoes. Far above her and far below there were black spikes glittering, as if diamond swords guarded the ceiling and floor. The platform they stood on was separate, a sheet of midnight glass, and small compared to the vast emptiness of the space.
“What do you want with me?” Erelah demanded, testing the bonds wrapped around her once again. If she could only break free of their magic, she could twist out of this infernal place.
“It’s no use to struggle,” Micah said, still holding one end of her tether. “I conjured the bonds, and I’m the only one who can set you free.” In his other hand, he held up her shadow angel blade, which she’d somehow lost in her capture, and her flipped it between a standard and reverse grip. “Father,” he said to the angel, “what do you wish for this? It’s been blessed.”
Fury twisted the angel’s face. “Yes, I can taste Razael on it. Destroy it.”
Micah flipped it again to forward grip and pointed it at Erelah. “Perhaps we can use Razael’s own blade to destroy his daughter?”
The angel rumbled a sound that rolled like thunder through the cavern. Erelah couldn’t decide if it was laughter or an endless, undulating growl. His angelings quivered with it, rising and falling and soaring in a feathered tempest above them.
“A delicious idea,” the angel said, striding toward her. His eyes were black as midnight, but his hair was electric white and long. Micah the angeling had called him father, but there was no resemblance between them. Of course, there wouldn’t be. Just like her, the angeling would look like the hapless human this angel of darkness had seduced.
Or ravished.
His dark eyes glinted in the cavern’s light, which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. His hint of smile was pure malevolence. “And such a delightful irony to see the daughter of Razael gone to shadow.” He licked his lips.
Erelah snarled at him. She was not afraid to die, and she wouldn’t give this dark angel the pleasure of her fear. “I can taste the evil on you. It is ancient and bitter.”
The angel chuckled. His gaze oozed evil over her body—she could feel it like a chilling slime—traveling from her bare feet, across her rope-wrapped midsection, and up to her face. He raised his hand and made a small motion with two fingers. She lifted into the air until she was face-to-face with him.
Erelah struggled and kicked, but the bounds that held her prevented her from countering his magic. Not that it would be any use. His power was vastly greater than hers.
He grinned as he watched her struggle, a look that shrank Erelah’s heart. She could see his evil intent—and that he would enjoy her suffering. “I see your Sin, Erelah, daughter of Razael. You fell from Lust, and yet you’re still chaste. It is a perfect temptation, don’t you think, Micah?”
“Yes, Elyon,” came the response at the end of her tether.
It struck her as strange that the angel—his name was apparently Elyon—would consult with a mere angeling about the manner of her torture. “I would find a way to die before my vow is broken by the likes of you,” Erelah spat in his face.
“You would try,” Elyon said with a sickening smile. “And you would fail.” He glanced at the stoic-faced angeling holding her tether. “Would you like to break her first, Micah?”
The angeling’s expression remained inscrutable. “It is your vengeance, father.”
“True enough.” Elyon turned back to Erelah. She was still levitated by his magic, but she managed to lean back when he reached for her face. Still, he touched her, and the slither of it flushed a deathly cold through her… but then it was quickly followed by a rush of heat.
This was a heat she had felt before, and Erelah gasped at the force of it. It was as if every sense of hers was suddenly magnified a hundred fold, and the mere slide of the angel’s fingers along her face was rushing her with a pleasure greater than she’d ever felt, even when wildly kissing Leksander and tearing off his clothes. This was a pleasure that would kill her. Short her out. Consume her in fire.
Elyon leaned close, his dark eyes blazing. “Lust is my strength, little angeling, not a weakness. I’ll have you breaking your vow and thanking me for it.”
�
�No,” Erelah grunted through gritted teeth. She fought the surge of pleasure—her body was betraying her, but she would resist him with her mind. She panted through her teeth, wincing as the angel caressed her cheek then slid his hand down to her neck.
“Perhaps we could turn her,” a voice spoke up. It was the angeling, Micah, again.
The angel drew back and glanced at him. “And what then? The fae will still want her.”
The fae? Erelah shook the haze of lust from her mind, which was possible only because Elyon was no longer touching her. Was he in league with the summer queen? But Leksander had claimed she let them go. Perhaps Erelah would be safer in the queen’s hands—a strange thought that kept her quiet. Maybe that was her path to freedom.
“They’ll only kill her,” Micah said. “And she would already be dead if I hadn’t failed in the alley. Let me finish the task.”
Erelah squinted at him. He was so keen to kill her, still brandishing her blade, but there was a wariness in his eyes, a hunch to his shoulders… and the taste of evil that blared from his father, the angel Elyon, was not so heavy on his angeling. She couldn’t shake the sense Micah was trying to help her, in a bizarre way. A quick death by blade would be better than her vow broken by an assault by an angel. The horror of that was still shuddering through her.
Better still would be escape, but what hope had she for that?
She lifted her chin. “I’d rather die by an angel’s blade than at the hands of the fae.” It was a reasonable thing to say… and she hoped that Elyon, in his perversity, would send her to the fae to spite her.
Instead, he just leered at her. “You’ll get there soon enough—”
He was cut off by a blast of angelsong coming from far away. Elyon’s gaze jerked to something behind her. Erelah was still held by his magic mid-air, but she could twist to see what was happening—and she could hardly believe her eyes. The distant wall of the cave was lit with a raging ball of fire. Blue fire. Dragonfire.
Oh no. “Leksander,” she whispered.