Inside the bubble, Scarla shoved Kush. He shoved her back. Chay remained on the sideline, seated in a plush wingback chair, legs crossed and fingers templed, completely unconcerned about Scarla’s well-being or Kush’s tendencies toward punishment. They were a family, those three. Bonded by ties deeper than those of the other UnHallowed.
And even though Scarla had let Sophie into their inner circle, she was on the outer edge, just like all the rest of the UnHallowed, looking in.
Scarla let loose a roundhouse that whipped Kush’s head around.
Holy Shit! Sophie gasped. There wasn’t a single man in her family that would’ve put up with the disrespect. Her tongue went back to her two front teeth. It took eighteen months of savings to get the teeth replaced. Ozzy took one look at her and threatened to knock them out again. Great guy, her ex. She hadn’t seen him in two years and wanted it to stay that way.
A sharp pain spiked the back of her eyes. She winced and caught a flash of an image, another random memory of her ex, standing over her—then it was gone.
Chay’s gaze shifted her way and her knees wobbled. Every time his pewter-colored eyes landed on her, her nipples saluted. It happened her first day on the job and every day since.
Two years later and she still couldn’t look into his eyes without her insides clenching from desire, without wanting things she couldn’t have. Her feelings were her own. Not once since that day had he looked at her with anything warmer than polite detachment. Clearly, he placed her in the untouchable category label “Friends of Scarla.”
And that was fine. Really, just fine and dandy. She kept reminding herself she had no interest in dating anyone. No human or sexy fallen angel.
Scarla stomped over to Chay, breaking the connection between Sophie and Chay. Sophie’s insides cooled and she switched her attention to her bestie. Being so animated and verbal, Scarla’s lips were easy to read.
I am not going to sit here and do nothing. We have to help, Scarla said, or something close to it.
Kush said something, but he tended to grimace through each sentence, leaving much to interpretation.
I’m not talking to you, Kush. Scarla pointed at him while she kept her attention on Chay. She perched her butt on the end of a short wooden block, which doubled as a table and a place to sit. They need us, Chay.
They could only mean the rest of the UnHallowed; Daghony, Bane, and Sammiél were the only ones Sophie had met. She took her mop closer to the bubble.
Scarla latched onto Chay’s wrist. Now is not the time to go into lockdown mode. This is an all hands on deck situation. Placing yourself on the sideline to protect me isn’t necessary when I can handle myself.
Chay patted Scarla’s hand. His gaze found Sophie again and the mop paused in her hand. It’s not you who I’m worried about.
Sophie forgot to mop and she processed what she thought about what she’d read on his lips. Scarla was the only breathing being the UnHallowed cared for. They made it clear with every safeguard they took with her well-being. Chay was the one who found her, and even though she was adopted by a nice elderly couple, he raised her.
Scarla glanced at Sophie. If you’re so worried about Sophie, you can plant an order in her mind for her to stay in her room at the training center. She’ll be safe there.
Sophie gripped the handle so hard, her knuckles ached. It took everything for her to not drop the mop and run. They’d planted things in my head. Did that mean they’d taken things out? It had to. God, what did they do to me? She trusted them. Trusted Scarla.
Without warning, the handle slid from her numb fingers as she swayed from a sudden bout of dizziness. Her hip smacked into the barstool and she doubled over in pain, not from the blow, but from the pain spiking her head.
Chay had seen everything. He leaped to his feet and rushed toward her.
Oh, shit! They know. They knew she read their lips. There wasn’t a place on earth she could hide from them. But this was Chay closing the distance between him and her. Not some stranger in an alley. Then again, all of the hurt in her life came at the hands of someone who claimed to love her. By the concern on his face, it wasn’t his plan. No, not to hurt her, but something just as bad.
Chay halted in front of her. He had his chocolate hair pulled back in a queue, which highlighted his recently shaved angular jaw and sharp cheekbones. His pewter eyes were a bit sunken, but it added to his innate intensity. He wrapped her in a gentle embrace. The feel of his calloused palms on her arms shocked her system. Yanking away should’ve been her first instinct, yet she didn’t. Maybe because it was the first time in her year at the job that he’d ever touched her. Not even a casual brushing of their bodies had she enjoyed.
“Are you okay?” Chay said low in a soothing voice she’d never heard from him.
Her head bobbled. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You swayed, bumped the table.” He pulled out a chair, guided her to it. “Sit.”
She obeyed because her knees were shaking. Actually, all of her was shaking. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe all of this was wrong. Her temple throbbed so hard she couldn’t keep her head upright.
“Is your blood sugar low? Have you eaten?” he asked though he didn’t wait for an answer. “Get her something from the kitchen,” he ordered Kush, who grumbled something about being a hired hand versus slavery as he marched away.
Sophie had no idea what he’d find. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times the bar closed and today was neither. And it wasn’t like they celebrated Christmas in July. Tonight, all of the staff had been given the night off with pay. The only reason she was here was because she was more than staff, though less than family. Loyalty brought her here.
She was loyal to them. How loyal were they to her?
Scarla crouched and met Sophie at eye level. “You’re pale. Did you catch a bug?” She placed the back of her hand on Sophie’s forehead, like a worried mother. “You’re not warm, but you are clammy.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Sophie shoved Scarla’s hand away and played the only card she had. “There’s something going on with you guys. I know there is.” Kush returned with a couple of packets of soup crackers. He tossed them on the table with all the care you’d toss a used napkin, then mission accomplished, he folded his arms and stood there, a mohawked wall of muscle. Ever present. Always silent. At least the nightmarish wings of his were hidden.
Chay dropped to his haunches. He opened a packet and held out a cracker for her to take. “There’s nothing you need to worry—”
“The thing is,” she brushed a hand across her temple. “I-I remember s-stuff. Conversations that start off like dreams but they f-feel real. I-I think I’ve had them. I know it’s not possible…except, I think they are.” Her gaze darted between the dumb, dumber, and dumbest trio. Not accurate, but that’s exactly what their expressions switched to between one blink and the next.
“I remember a woman…in the parking lot,” she growled. Pain spiked both temples and her stomach rolled. Sophie grabbed her head and tipped forward. She landed on Chay’s shoulder. He held her to him, one hand circled the space between her shoulders, the other stroked her hair. How good it felt surprised her. How much she wanted it to continue, more so.
Regardless, she stayed focused. “There was a fight in the parking lot. I’m sure of it. The details come in spurts.”
“It’s just a dre—”
“It’s not a dream.” Sophie cut Scarla off. “It’s too real.” She fought the pain tapping at her temple and the comfort of Chay’s arms to pull away and look into his pewter eyes.
“Don’t think about it and the pain will go away.”
The subtle compulsion pressed against her will, bending her will to his, easy to detect when searching for it. “I want to think about it. I want to remember.” She gripped his shirt to shake him but didn’t budge him an inch. He pried her hands off his shirt and held both in one hand.
Scarla leaned in, and whispered, “Chay, she’s strong enoug
h—”
He nailed Scarla hard with a cold gaze. “Some memories aren’t worth the effort to remember.”
“Strong enough for what?” Sophie sensed the two weren’t discussing a parking lot memory. A wave of confusion mixed with a crippling fear slammed into her. A gray wall seemed to form in her mind. On one side, was an image of her, smiling, and happy. On the other, a no man’s land of things better left buried. Suddenly, she didn’t want to remember, not if it came with the agony waiting on the other side.
“Shh.” He brushed her cheeks and his fingers came away wet. “I got you, sweetheart. I’m gonna take away the pain.”
A part of her whispered, No! Hell No! The part of her suffering said, “Yes!” as a fresh wave of pain made her stomach heave. Though empty, something crawled up her throat. She pushed away, afraid for his clean shirt, the same color of his eyes.
“Do it already or I will,” Kush snapped, clearly bored with the drama.
Chay captured her face. The red swallowing the irises of his eyes didn’t frighten her. It wasn’t a new occurrence, and she’d seen the same effect on the other UnHallowed. She’d never seen red spread to the whites of his eyes.
Sophie pulled away, well, she tried to. Chay had a vise grip on her face and the longer she stared into his red eyes, the more the fight drained from her muscles, like blood spurting out of a punctured artery.
“Let me inside you.” The intensity of his voice reached through the fog clouding her senses and took hold. “Give me all of you.”
An automatic no came from within. The word echoed inside her head followed by a wave of pressure bearing down on her will, molding her will into a pliable weave of intent and motivation under Chay’s control.
“My love, don’t resist me.”
My love? She couldn’t have heard correctly. It wasn’t possible he said ‘My love.’ Yet, what if he did? She wanted to hold on to that question and investigate all the ramifications, all the possibilities. If she could just climb out of the fog, shake off the lethargy, and demand answers.
Deep within her, a door creaked open and before she mustered motivation and intent, Chay rushed in.
The fog transformed into a blizzard of white noise vibrating every atom in her body. Off in the distance, a wave of shadows frothed against a white landscape then rushed toward her, and Sophie wasn’t afraid.
Chapter Seven
Amaya gave Malphas and Gideon credit. They didn’t hide behind her and wait things out—see which way the wind blew, up their asses or through holes carved into their bodies—the two flanked her. Given the seven UnHallowed facing them, Malphas and Gideon were either brave or stupid. She favored the latter.
Gideon cleared his throat, a subtle nudge to get her started. She didn’t need it. Everything rode on this moment. The next words out of her mouth had consequences. Words had consequences whether written on paper or carved into flesh. Hope or despair, life or death, words had power. Dwelling too long on all the ramifications made her brain freeze. Right now, she had to focus on the fallen angels in front of her. All of them, not just the one who had her heart banging in her chest.
She skimmed over the gathering, taking in Daghony’s healed body, Riél’s fierce gaze—though he seemed completely relaxed in his SARCASTIC COMMENT LOADING, PLEASE WAIT tee shirt. Ioath, she knew of him through Braile’s memories. The wingless, bearded, brown-haired former Archangel of Demons had a gun in his hand. A gun. Not a sword. Interesting. Zed and Rimmon were crispy with patches of pink skin interspersed between the charred, yet they were on their feet, armed and ready to attack. Gadreel brought up the rear.
She had a brief thought about Kush and Chay. If they were okay…then her gaze settled on Bane.
He was alive, crispy—his hair had singed patches, along with the skin on his face, neck, and hands—but on his two feet and all parts seemingly intact. Relief washed over her. That said, or rather thought, he was still in the same clothes—though now a filthy torn Henley and equally ruined leather pants. Yet, he’d never looked better.
Front and center, he stood opposite her, a few feet away. Armed. Was he surprised she wasn’t dead or at who she’d brought home for dinner? His face was a blank mask, even his eyes held no hint of crimson. Icy aquamarine orbs seized her in an embrace that had her insides simmering. Then, she caught a question reflected in his gaze. Are you okay? She nodded once.
Though his expression didn’t change, he stretched out his hand to her. “Amaya, come to me.” Each word weighed by a warning, his gaze shifted to Malphas in challenge.
“Can’t.” She wanted to but shook her head.
Hand still reaching out, he demanded, “You can and you will.”
“Not until we all have a little discussion.”
“About what, Amaya?” Daghony jumped into the conversation.
“Are you with them now?” Ioath jerked his chin in Malphas’s direction.
Yes or no wasn’t that simple. “I’m not with anyone.”
“Not even us?” Riél added.
Damn, that didn’t come out the right way, but she couldn’t take it back. She had to stay neutral, if that was possible, even though she knew where her allegiance lay.
Wait a sec. Since when did she have an allegiance to anyone but herself and Braile?
Something flared in her chest, a sudden bond that hadn’t previously existed. Braile had an allegiance, not only to the Celestial Order but also to the UnHallowed. He trusted both with his life, loved them all. Braile really was the best of all of them. That had to be what she felt. She’d met Bane three weeks ago and owed him nothing, and the UnHallowed less. The center of her chest burned and she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing the area.
“Amaya. Come to me.” Bane hadn’t lowered his hand and God, she wanted to take it, have his fingers close over hers and let him handle everything. She couldn’t. The grace in her veins said she couldn’t. There was a reason Braile sacrificed his immortality. There was a reason his grace pumped through her body. Those reasons and more meant she couldn’t step to the sidelines. Plus, she wasn’t the type to sit and watch shit happen.
She was the spoon stirring the pot. Always had been, always would be.
She glared into Bane’s eyes and said, “No.” Then turned her attention to all of the UnHallowed. “I know how this looks, but don’t be fooled, Malphas is as much my enemy as he is yours.” She felt Malphas’s glare searing the side of her face. “However, we want the same things, namely the Cruor. He doesn’t want it opened any more than we do. Why? He’s enjoying being the big fish in the big pond. And let’s face it, we’d all rather deal with one Demoni Lord than a slew of them. That means we all want it away from that Spaun. And that means we need to work together.”
Silence.
Not quite. She could hear the grass growing outside and nothing else. Not even a mosquito buzzed.
Anti-climactic much.
The two groups studied each other, measured, assessed. The promise of violence seasoned the air, not so much from the two next to her, but from the seven UnHallowed she faced. The hairs on her arms saluted and all her senses flipped to alert. Here as a peacemaker, how on earth would she stop a battle from erupting?
No one moved. Statues in a stone garden had more life, except for their eyes. She didn’t miss the tension in their bodies nor the crimson blazing from their sockets, like brake lights in a traffic jam. This could go either way—bad or worse. Though she had no doubt Malphas and Gideon could hold their own, but that was not what she or they needed. The Cruor had to come first.
“Gideon. Your balls must’ve tripled for you to show your traitor’s ass here,” Zed said in the most genial tone as a sword formed in his hand.
Gideon stepped forward. Face carefully neutral, he nodded once. “They have.” A scowl raked his features and his gaze cut to Malphas. “He has Dina. Infected her with a Darkling.”
Silence again. Then, “Didn’t know that was possible,” Ioath spoke first. Followed by murmurs of “Not
possible”, “Never heard it”, and “Bullshit.”
“It is true. I know firsthand.” Bane kept his gaze on Amaya.
“So what. That’s still all it took for Gideon to betray us? A woman? Y’see. That’s why I don’t have one.” Zed snorted.
Amaya raked a scathing glance down his body. The stringy, greasy, unkempt hair and beard, with clothes that needed washing the way fish needed water. “Yep. That’s why you don’t have one.”
Zed’s head swiveled her way and crimson cleared from his eyes. Wow. Fuchsia circled his pupils, aqua circled the fuchsia, and black-rimmed both. Red swallowed his eyes again and his attention shifted back to Gideon.
A sword appeared in Gideon’s hand. Zed had four inches and a few pounds on Gideon. By the determined rage on his face, Amaya wouldn’t place bets on the outcome, nor did she particularly care.
“Not a woman. My woman.” Gideon hiked his thumb at Malphas. “Until she’s free, he has my loyalty.”
Weapons appeared in everyone’s hands. Looks like we’re going to war. The weight of her sword registered in her palm and she braced, even as she said, “We need to work together.”
“Never with a Demoni,” Rimmon sneered. “Did you forget he threw us into the fucking sun?” Lightning struck close to the house, causing the lights to flicker.
Malphas sighed, contempt oozing from him. “Would you prefer I killed you?”
“You threw us into the sun,” Ioath whispered, violence in every word.
Malphas arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “The lot of you survived. You should be proud.”
A collective growl shook the room. This wasn’t going so well. She had to find a way to—
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