Sammiél shelved the inquiry. He wasn’t that interested in the answer.
“Have you come to kill me?” Daeden folded his arms across his chest, not particularly concerned.
The question was unexpected, but the candor was appreciated. “Remains to be seen,” Sammiél said, though the only weapon that could kill a Reaper, Michael now possessed.
Daeden nodded and scratched at his jaw as he crossed into the shadows. “Want a beer?” He walked passed Sammiél to a half fridge next to the sink. He didn’t wait for an answer to toss a bottle at him. Sammiél caught it, but didn’t open it. He placed it on the stove as Daeden cracked open his bottle and took a long gulp. “So, what brings you out to the sticks?” he asked after dragging his forearm across his wet mouth.
Sammiél took in the cabin again, then stretched his senses to the surrounding woods, searching. He brushed against the usual wildlife: a deer, raccoons, plenty of insects, hawks nesting, nothing with a human heartbeat and no dead zones indicating a demonic presence. Once more, he was surprised. The leader of the Reapers living a solitary life wasn’t what he’d expected. Then again, who was he to judge. “Barrin. He said you are leading the Reapers.”
Daeden took another swig of beer. “I did, had for a while.”
“What is a while?”
“Since you fell, until a century ago.”
That was longer than a while. “Why? You performed the job all that time, why cease?”
Daeden re-crossed the room and dropped to the edge of the bed, the mattress groaned under his weight. “Got tired. The Reapers stopped listening, and I stopped talking. I didn’t give a shit anymore. They needed real leadership and I wasn’t it.” He took another swig of beer.
Sammiél snorted and held up a finger. “Reapers have one job. Collect souls. They needed to be lead to do the one job they were created for? Explain.”
Daeden sighed. “That was always your problem. You didn’t appreciate the loyalty that was thrown in your lap. You were given an army that you couldn’t be bothered to lead.”
Sammiél fumed. Daeden had struck close to home. “I never wanted an army.”
The Reaper tossed him a sardonic glance. “When has it ever been about what you wanted? What I wanted? The Almighty gave humans free will, not you. Not me.”
Nothing ever said was truer.
“You gave the Reapers a ‘Fuck you’ and walked away from the lot of us. And yeah, we kept the engine purring like good little cogs. Shit, the majority of us still are, but the dissent has risen to a level that cannot be ignored.”
The heated note in Daeden’s voice couldn’t be ignored. Rising to the challenge, Sammiél growled, “Do I detect a threat?”
Daeden propped his elbows on his thighs and gave a sloppy shrug. “You detect the truth. Take it as a threat if you want.”
The Reaper couldn’t be more non-threatening. The fight Sammiél came for wasn’t going to happen. “So who leads them now?” He opened the beer and downed half.
Face scrunched as if concentrating took effort, Daeden rattled off, “Grim, Liqis, Blitz, Finis, any of them could be leading the Reapers.”
His nonchalance seriously pissed Sammiél off. Could the Reaper be any more useless?
Daeden ran the back of his hand under the rough whiskers on his chin. “Why do want to know? Planning a comeback?”
Good question. One he had no answer for.
All of Sammiél’s muscles tensed and a shudder crawled down his spine. He whipped around to see tendrils extending from the shadows, reaching for him.
“Why is it doing that?” Daeden shouted, more animated now than he’d been with Sammiél, though he remained seated, elbows still on his thighs, relaxed. It made Sammiél wonder what would get a rise out of the Reaper.
The tendrils contracted and sprang at him again. “Something is wrong.”
Daeden stood, the mattress squealed in relief. “What?” He went to the window and peered out.
“Not out there.” Someone cried for help. The psychic scream broke through the barrier Sammiél had erected, reached inside his head, and squeezed. A vise would’ve been gentler. He followed the breadcrumbs back through the mental link to the source. But it wasn’t just one source, it was multiple sources: Zedekiél, Rimmon, Gadreel, Ioath, Chayyliél, Tahariél, Kushiél, and Bane. Every single one of them screamed in agony. Something that had never—ever—happened.
As Daeden asked, “What’s wrong?” Sammiél ignored the Reaper and lowered all of his remaining mental barriers, releasing the power leashed inside him.
He entered the shadows as Sammiél.
He exited the shadows as the Archangel of Death.
Chapter Twenty-One
Can’t say Amaya didn’t suspect this would happen. It was just a matter of time, but damn! Demon traps to take down the UnHallowed, then Spaun and Darklings to clean up those who escaped the traps, like their former boss.
She had to get the UnHallowed out of here.
She dove for the house and was blocked by two winged creatures in her path. Two throwing stars slowed them down enough for her empyreal blade to form in her palm. Swipe left. She let the momentum spin her, carry her behind the span, and swiped again. Both died without their heads.
Amaya veered right, back toward the house. Five winged Spaun headed her way. She flew into the midst of them, her sword in one hand, her dagger in the other. She thrust her sword into the pasty neck of the nearest and pitched his body into the two behind him. Ducking got her out of the way of a set of two-inch claws. She came up behind and speared the Spaun between the shoulder blades. Then tossed her dagger into the eye of the next one. The Spaun yanked the dagger free while his friend disintegrated on the edge of her sword. Two throwing stars to the abdomen slowed it down and a sword to the neck ended it. The last one charged her.
Amaya didn’t run. She flew toward him and brought her sword up across its abdomen. He fell away in two separate pieces. Nothing remained when the parts landed. But more were coming, a never ending stream of them. Now, they surrounded the house. At least they weren’t pouring inside. In fact, they turned away from the mansion as if facing a new threat.
Three hundred yards away, shadows gathered to form a black hole in the midst of the demons. What now! flashed across her brain a second before the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen flew out of the hole—The Archangel of Death. Flames danced on top of a black skull, orange wings that seemed as tall as goal posts flared on the back of his leather jacket and covered his body. His sword—a monstrous double-sided weapon with a skull embedded around the pommel, glinted in the trickle of moonlight illuminating the field. One swipe cleaved five Spaun into pieces. They fell like shattered dominoes on a cardboard field and vanished between blinks. Next, Sam extended his hand and incinerated fifteen Darklings. Nothing was left of the ethereal wisps. Not even ash, but especially, no bodies. This time, the Darklings weren’t inhabiting humans.
Sam landed in the middle of enemy forces. He fought as she imagined the Archangel of Death would, without mercy. Everything that came at him died, evaporated out of existence.
Claws dug into her side. She pinwheeled, spinning in the air, trying to dislodge the beast attached to her.
“Don’t kill her,” someone screamed, and she was free, falling, yet free.
Her wings opened, stopping her freefall close enough to the ground to lob off the heads of a few Spaun. She swung around to flank Sam. “The UnHallowed are trapped in the house. We have to free them.”
“Leave!” His voice a guttural commanded that bruised her ears, in a tone that expected complete obedience.
She stopped herself from covering her ears, which ached slightly less than her eyes from meeting the twin flames blazing in Sam’s eye sockets. “I’m not leaving you to fight alone. I’m not leaving any of you!” Especially not Bane. She refused to leave him trapped in that house. She fought off another Spaun, but more kept coming. A lot more. They pulled away from Sam and headed toward her. Ever
ything walking or flying made a beeline her way.
“They want you! You have to go. Now!” Sam shouted as he took to the air, killing everything between him and her.
“No,” she snarled, and followed him back into the air, taking the fight to the army. She fought harder, but they kept coming.
“I will draw them to me. Give you a chance to escape.” A rotation of his shoulders and his wings eviscerated an unnamed demon thing.
Gergos. The lizard-like demons with the ability to fly, but their poisonous skin is what makes them deadly. The knowledge popped into her head.
She gripped her sword. “We can take them.” Nothing she’d seen led her to believe anything different. Sam was invincible.
“I’m not at full strength. It’s a matter of time—”
An arrow slammed into his shoulder, spinning him to the right. His sword slipped from his hand as he cartwheeled in mid-air. She backtracked the arrow to a spot inside the tree line one hundred yards away, in time to see a Spaun dip the arrow tips into a vat of luminous liquid. The essence clung to the arrow tip as it was notched and released.
Grace! Where had they gotten such an amount? Amaya darted in front of Sam. He was the best chance the UnHallowed had, not her.
He knocked her away and took two arrows—center mass. She screamed, even though he didn’t. His flames extinguished and his black skull receded behind his human façade as he went into a free fall.
A handful of Spaun swooped in. In a spiral of wings and bodies, the Archangel of Death continued to fight even as he went down, taking Darklings and Spaun with him. Acceptance mixed with agony blazing from his darkening sockets, that’s what would stay with her until her dying day.
He landed with an earth-shaking thud. Hundreds of demons piled on top of him until none of Sam remained to be seen. Her scream died, along with her belief that she was invincible. That victory was hers for the taking. That, in all things, she would prevail.
Amaya had a choice: stay and fight to the quick, bloody end, or leave and regroup. Get Michael. Get somebody, something, anything, and come back and kill everything that stood in her path. She wanted the former.
Instead, Amaya formed a dimensional pocket. Her last sight was of Darklings streaming into the mansion, dragging an unconscious Sammiél behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Back to the wall, legs splayed in front of her, Amaya sat on her living room floor, and counted all the ways she’d failed.
Foremost, she failed herself. She was over what Braile and Michael had trained her for. Completely over it. As that realization settled into her psyche, the list of things she was over tripled. Her parents’ deaths, Braile’s abandonment, Michael’s use of her, her many inadequacies—over it.
She’d screamed for Michael until her voice was nothing more than a hoarse croak. That was an hour ago. In her defense, she wasn’t doing nothing. Active contemplation required a lot of energy, which she had none of. Her tank had passed E and was now on fumes. Bane was right. She was a liability. Her words, not his.
So much for being able to handle herself. She handled herself right out of ten UnHallowed: Zedekiél, Rimmon, Tahariél, Ioath, Kushiél, Chayyliél, Gadreel, Sammiél, Gideon, Daghony, and one Demoni Lord.
And Bane.
Why did it take losing someone to realize how much you loved them? Needed them. Her heart hiccuped. Too late for any of that. By now, they were all dead. Her stomach heaved and didn’t stop until a stream of digestive juices scraped the top layer off her throat and tongue.
Something struck her front door, sounded like a rock. Had to be the wind. She ignored it and continued vomiting, also known as contemplating her many failures, all over her hardwood floors.
Something struck her door hard enough to rattle the windows. Amaya ignored the dull ache in her side from where claws had pierced her skin and leapt to her feet. Her sword was in one hand—the fine edge glowing—while she wiped the drool and vomit off her chin with the other. Could be a storm. She glanced at the nearest window, but the blinds were sealed tight. She had no idea whether it was midnight or noon. Sunny or if a tornado had the farm in its crosshairs.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Amaya gripped the warm knob, steadied her breathing, and opened the door. At the edge of the lawn, partially hidden in the tall grass, were two men. She wasn’t fooled and she wasn’t afraid.
She stepped onto the porch and into a bright sunny day. This was her house and they couldn’t get in without an invitation. Bane’s name was on the deed, along with hers. He created the basement for the UnHallowed and invited them inside. Without that invitation, they would’ve been stuck on the front lawn like her two unwanted visitors.
“My master requests you return to Siberia, immediately.” The taller of the two spoke and tossed her a cell phone. Dressed in business suits, both candidates could’ve passed for bankers.
With her free hand, she caught it, but her gaze remained locked on her visitors. Only when she was certain they wouldn’t rush her, did she risk a glance at the screen.
Sammiél hung from the rafters of a room, hooks protruded from each shoulder, while ropes around his neck, wrists, and ankles stretched him wide. Kushiél and Zedekiél were in the same condition on either side of him.
The camera panned down to Ioath, his back flayed to his cracked ribs. Rimmon was pinned to a wall by what she guessed were railroad spikes through every major joint in his body: shoulders, elbows, hips, knees, and ankles; his metal cuffs gone. Next to him, Chayyliél pinned in the same way. Malphas and Daghony, their guts were piled next to them, their abdominal cavities open and hollow. Gideon had no hands and gouged eyes. Tahariél, beautiful Riél, had no face. They’d peeled him like an orange, all the way to his belly.
All were shirtless, their skin carved with deep, jagged wounds. Gadreel was on his feet, fully clothed in his leathers, though chained, and bolted to a corner of the room, a quartet of spears inches away from his skin kept him immobile. Toothpicks to his eyelids kept them open. He couldn’t look away from the horror if he wanted to. On each of their foreheads, symbols shimmered. Quickly, she realized it was grace. The same grace that took Sam down. Smoke drifted in from the right corner of the screen. The phone panned in that direction, over a pile of grey, black, white, orange, burning wings.
A primal scream formed in the back of her throat but left her mouth as a whisper.
Lastly, the camera panned to Bane. Naked, he lay on a marble slab, a sacrificial lamb. His arms stretched above his head and chained, as were his ankles chained to the bottom of the slab. An enormous Spaun stood next to Bane, a hatchet in his hand. The demon was as tall and wide as Malphas with additional arms and a tail. He raised the hatchet and brought it down with a solid thunk. The camera jerked to Bane’s face as bones cracked. He opened his mouth and—
Amaya screamed for him. Then she leapt from the porch, wings sprouted from her back. It took all of a second to close the distance and kill the messengers. Chest heaving—not from exertion but from the blistering rage—she stood over the bodies. It wasn’t enough. Every last fucking one of them would die.
“Amaya,” Taige singsonged until she snatched the phone from where it had landed on the steps. His horrid, human face filled the screen.
“I will continue to cut parts off of your lover until there is nothing left of him, then I will start in on the rest. You have ten minutes to return with my men—”
“Your men are dead. I will return when I damn well feel like it, and Bane and the rest of the UnHallowed better fucking well be alive.”
“Or else?” he chuckled. “You will kill me?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I am going to kill you, but not until everything you’ve done to them has been done to you, twice. Only then will you die.”
“Listen here, you bitch—”
She crushed the phone in her hand and tossed it into the grass. She marched through the house and didn’t stop until she reached the kitchen. Gatorade and granola bars. She
drank a liter of the sports drink and ate five bars. As she chewed and swallowed, her wounds healed, her wings vanished, and a plan formed. The only plan she had.
It had to work because she had nothing else left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amaya yanked open the door to Maximum Effort and marched through the martial arts class filled with twenty plus students. Scarla—in the middle of a takedown move—stopped to watch her approach.
Amaya halted in front of her and the student. “We need to talk.”
Scarla paused with her mouth open, no doubt something snide poised to trip off her tongue. Amaya gave a single shake of her head. Today wasn’t the day. Scarla’s gaze scanned Amaya. Her eyes narrowed on the strategically placed pockets and the slight bulges under Amaya’s sweater.
“Class, ten more minutes, and you’re done for the day. See you on Thursday.”
Amaya pivoted and continued to the rooms in the rear of the building. She stopped in a living room that could’ve been a copy of the one in her basement. The duffle bag slung diagonally across her chest, weighed heavily. She adjusted the strap, but it didn’t change the weight.
The door swung open behind her and Scarla and Sophie entered. Amaya ignored the sidekick and addressed the one she came here for. “The UnHallowed are in trouble—”
“Because of you,” Scarla interrupted. She folded her arms and struck an unintentional pretty pose.
Wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter.
Scarla shrugged and waved a careless hand. “Whatevs trouble they’re in, they will get out of it. They’ll call in reinforcements.
“There are no reinforcements to call because they’ve all been captured by an army of Spaun and Darklings. All eleven.” She ran down the list and watched the shock on their faces.
Only You (UnHallowed Series Book 3) Page 14