by Reine, SM
The strange, inhuman design of the city was almost as disorienting as the darkness itself, but Abel seemed to know where they were going. The clicking of his nails echoed through the darkness and made an easy trail for Rylie to follow. She shadowed him, nose almost to his tail.
Only a few minutes into their run, Abel stopped abruptly.
Rylie almost struck his side. She nuzzled his flank in silent questioning, but he stared fixedly at the street in front of them without acknowledging her, and she lifted her head to see why.
Then she realized there was no street in front of them at all.
They were on the brink of a wide courtyard where the canals converged, but half of the courtyard itself was missing. The ground had sunk in underneath a statue at its center. The canals drained into the cavernous opening.
There was no sign of what had caused the destruction—only the destruction itself. Rylie didn’t smell gunpowder or chemicals or anything else that could indicate a bomb.
But she did smell demons.
Abel trotted around the edge of the sinkhole, heading for the street beyond that would lead to Eve’s temple. The artificial tree looked no larger now than it had a few minutes ago, although Rylie knew that they must have crossed at least half the distance now.
She was about to follow him when she smelled buttered popcorn—and something else that was far more familiar.
Rylie stopped. Turned back to the chasm.
Why did she smell family?
Without waiting to see if Abel would follow, Rylie climbed to the edge of the sinkhole and sniffed around the broken stones. She definitely smelled her pack. It was a musky, earthy smell, like icy rivers and pine trees and decaying plants. All werewolves smelled like Gray Mountain, the place where Rylie had been bitten. It wasn’t a smell that belonged in Shamain.
She couldn’t see what was within the dark chasm, but she couldn’t leave until she found the source of the werewolf odor. Rylie leaped lightly down the rubble.
Abel was behind her in a moment. He snapped his jaw at her ear in admonishment, as if to say, What were you thinking, coming back here?
Rylie lowered her head and sniffed. After a beat, he followed suit.
His gold eyes sharpened.
He smelled it, too.
Abel was at her side as she climbed down. She found the remnants of spiral stairs and followed them underneath the statue, ducking under the bent leg of the marble woman to slink into a cavern.
Shattered crystal crunched under Rylie’s step as she paused at the bottom of the stairs. There wasn’t much cavern to explore. Most of it had collapsed and what little space remained was filling with water from the canals.
But then she saw a swirl of crimson slicking the surface of the small lake forming under the statue—blood.
The smell of wounded prey hit her at the same time. A dying animal.
“Someone help!”
The familiar voice rang out softly from deeper in the cave.
Rylie slammed back into her human body and was hip-deep in the warm waters of Shamain before she had even considered the alternatives. “Summer!” she yelled back as she sloshed through the flooded wreckage, shoving a car-sized boulder aside to clear a path. Water swirled to fill the hole she had made.
Abel cursed behind her. He had turned back, too, and set the bag that James had given him on a high, dry rock before slipping in.
Pieces of white stone from the canals had collapsed against each other, preventing Rylie from reaching Summer. They were wedged together. She couldn’t move them.
“Hurry,” Summer begged from the other side. “I think he’s—I think he’s dying, Mom!”
The desperation in her daughter’s voice was like a kick to the chest. Rylie sucked in a lungful of air and dived under the surface of the water, kicking rapidly to swim through a narrow gap to the other side.
Rylie had swum in lakes and rivers before, in luxurious spas and Olympic swimming pools. She associated water with muffled quiet and the sound of her own heart. But as this water rushed to fill her ears, Rylie wasn’t greeted by silence.
There were voices in the water. Whispers and sighs.
She erupted from the flood with a ragged gasp, clutching the other side of the broken canal to hold herself up.
Summer was stranded on a sheet of polished crystal that had been cracked by the collapse. One of her legs was twisted oddly, trapped underneath a rock. “Hurry,” she said, “please.”
Rylie dragged herself out of the water. Once she saw what was on the other side of the rock trapping Summer, she sucked in a hard gasp.
Nash’s entire left side had been crushed—his arm, his ribs, his leg. He was a bloody mess of feathers and ragged skin. One wing was bent pitifully behind his head. He was healing slowly. Much more slowly than a werewolf. And the fact that he was still unconscious could only mean that it was even worse than it looked.
But within the protective circle of his other arm and wing rested Summer, who looked like she had narrowly avoided being crushed. She pushed at the rubble pinning her down but couldn’t move it; even her strength wasn’t enough against the awkward angle without any leverage.
Abel sloshed out of the water behind Rylie as she braced her hands against the rubble and pushed.
With a groan, they shifted the rock enough for Summer to pull her leg out.
“What are you doing here?” Rylie asked, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands, searching her for any signs of concussion. She didn’t think werewolves could get concussions, but after everything that had happened to them that day, she wasn’t going to rule it out.
“Nash asked me up to help him search the fissures because there was a demon,” Summer said. She pushed Rylie’s hands away. “Something—something happened. Help me get him out.”
“Something happened,” Abel said. “No shit, something happened.”
Summer elaborated. “An explosion. It was demon magic.”
With Rylie’s help, she moved the stones crushing Nash’s side. His skin had been absolutely shredded, baring glistening muscle underneath. His scent was that of an animal near death.
The wreckage surrounding them gave a dangerous groan. Abel had shifted some of the roof out of the way, freeing enough room to carry Nash to the stairs without having to swim. But it was also making the entire sinkhole shift.
“Move fast,” he said, bracing his arms against the wall to hold it upright, sweat beading his forehead. “Real fast.”
Summer picked Nash up as easily as though he weighed nothing. Angels were hollow-boned, and Summer was as strong as any other werewolf—her ankle had already healed from being smashed under the rock.
The walls cracked like glaciers. Fragments of stone plopped into the water.
Rylie clambered up onto the first stair and held her arms out to take Nash from Summer as soon as she had crossed the water.
Abel released the wall and followed them.
The ground above them began collapsing. Rylie took Nash’s legs, Summer took his shoulders, and they rushed up the stairs with his body hanging limp between them.
As they climbed to the surface, the stairs slid under them. The street sagged.
They leaped onto the cobblestone just as the rest of the sinkhole caved in under them.
Rylie’s grip on Nash slipped. There was too much blood to keep hold of him. She winced as Summer sagged under his sudden weight, sinking to her knees beside him.
“You stupid idiot moron,” Summer said tearfully, pulling Nash’s head into her lap, smoothing her hand over his forehead. “You big dumb bird. I heal faster than you do. You shouldn’t have—you didn’t—”
Abel touched Summer’s shoulder. “He didn’t have a choice,” he said. “I’d’ve done the same thing.”
It might have been the first time that Abel had said anything less uncritical about Nash. Summer looked so overwhelmed by gratitude that Rylie thought she might cry. Instead, she buried her face into Abel’s chest and shuddered.
The air shifted, swirled around them.
Rylie looked up in time to see a figure descending from the sky.
An angel landed beside them, bare feet connecting with the street, feathers whispering against the cobblestones. His wings looked like those of an eagle. His hair was a glistening white-gold. Rylie didn’t even think before shifting back into her wolf body and putting herself between him and Summer.
The sight of her form twisting as she shifted made the angel take a step back, as if he had never seen a werewolf change on command before.
“What is this?” he hissed, putting a hand on the saber at his waist.
Abel growled, but Summer put a hand on his arm, holding him at bay as she glared up at the angel. “Nash is dying, Michael,” she said, all hints of her tears gone, burned away by a fierce heat. “We were looking for your demon and there was some kind of…evil magic down there. It blew up the cavern. It made the fissures disappear.”
This seemed to mean more to the angel than it did to Rylie. His eyes registered mild surprise. “And how did your…pack…end up here, mortal?” Michael’s tone made it clear he considered “mortal” to be an insult.
Abel stood. “Did you hear her? She was trying to fucking help you and just about got pulverized for it,” he said. “You want to ask her questions, you better be a hell of a lot nicer about it.”
Michael looked to be as impressed by Abel’s anger as he was by the sight of Nash’s injuries. The angel spoke even more coolly now. “I came to investigate this darkness and alert Nash to an intrusion. Something has come through the gate we recovered from Mexico. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, wolves?”
“All I know is that Nash needs help,” Summer said.
The angel nodded in reluctant agreement. “He’s not the only one. We’ve established an infirmary of sorts in Leliel’s home. Raqib is watching our wounded there. He will clean Nashriel’s wounds and care for him.”
Michael moved as if to touch him, but Summer wrapped her arms around Nash more tightly.
“Don’t,” she snarled.
He paused. “He may not heal at all without Shamain’s glow,” Michael said. “There is still some light in Leliel’s home. We have reserves. It could save him.”
Summer hesitated. All she had to do was say no and Rylie would happily jump in. She had taken down a hybrid before—she could probably deal with an angel, too. Anything for her daughter.
But Summer said, “Okay.”
Rylie didn’t quite relax as Michael kneeled to touch Nash’s side. “Shamain is sick tonight,” he said, pulling his brother out of Summer’s lap with slow, gentle movements, like he was taking an infant from her. “The demons are still here, and their sinful warlock magic has severed Shamain’s exits. Simultaneously, there was a disruption on Earth that ripped the tendons holding our dimension in place. Do you understand?”
“No,” Summer said.
Michael straightened with Nash in his arms. “It means everything that orients and secures Heaven is gone. The walls are torn, our foundation destroyed. Nothing, neither angels nor city, can heal in this darkness. Shamain will fall if we don’t act quickly.”
Summer pressed both of her bloodied hands to her heart. “Fall?”
“If you want to survive tonight, I suggest you find and kill the demon that has invaded us,” he said.
“Wait!” Summer leaped to her feet. “What about the other angels? Aren’t they going to help?”
“There aren’t other angels,” Michael said. “Help us, bride of Nashriel.”
His wings pumped. He lifted into the air, carrying Nash into the darkness.
Rylie stared after him without really seeing him.
There aren’t other angels? Could the attacking demons have really wounded or killed every angel left in Shamain?
Summer wiped her fingers off on her skirt. “Well, that wasn’t much of a motivational speech,” she said with a weak laugh.
“Hunt demons,” Abel said. “Alone.” And then he punctuated it with a long stream of colorful prevarications that seemed even more vulgar than usual, considering that they were in Heaven.
“Could be worse,” Summer said. “At least I have you guys. Speaking of which, what are you guys doing here?”
“We were going to Eve’s temple to open another door to Eden,” Abel said. “Long story. But you can find somewhere safe. We’ll drop the bag and hunt the demon if that’s what we gotta do to keep the city from…falling.”
Summer’s eyes were bright with anger. She ripped off her shirt, kicked off her shoes, dropped the skirt. “I’m not going to hide. If you’re hunting tonight, I am too.”
She shifted into a wolf, and so did he.
Together, the pack ran through the city.
Shamain smelled like death. It radiated from the streets and darkened buildings. The trees seemed to ooze it from their leaves. Even the texture of the air was changing rapidly. It was becoming bitter and acidic.
The last of the stars vanished from the sky, and the wolves finally reached Eve’s temple.
Rylie shifted back to her human form and pulled James’s backpack off of Abel. The grass in front of the temple prickled against her bare feet. She felt like eyes were watching her as she stepped up the path to the imprint of an archway on the tree’s trunk.
There was no door waiting for her at the top. The archway was closed.
She turned to look at the wolves. They weren’t watching her; they were alert, eyes on the bottom of the hill, as if expecting attack. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t feel alone. “How do we get in?” Rylie asked, knowing that Summer and Abel wouldn’t be able to respond, and that it wouldn’t have mattered if they could.
Rylie walked around the trunk to search for a door, but the archway was the only sign of an entrance. And James Faulkner definitely still wasn’t there to let them in.
She circled back. Abel and Summer were waiting for her, and Rylie couldn’t see anything beyond them. The rest of the city was too dark.
“Let’s just leave the bag here,” Rylie said, trying to rub the sudden chill off of her arms. “We can come back after we’ve hunted.”
Abel’s gaze focused beyond her. His eyes sharpened and a growl rippled from his throat.
She turned to see that a burning point of light had appeared in the trunk of the tree.
Rylie’s heart skipped a beat. Was Shamain’s glow being restored?
No—this light was red, not the pale blue-gray that she had seen when she first set foot through the gate. And it was growing rapidly, spreading over the trunk of the tree until it looked like a fist-sized ember. It swelled like a tumor.
She backed up until her back hit something furry. She didn’t look behind her to see if it was Abel or Summer.
The center of the burned point brightened to white-hot, then melted into an opening.
Something moved beyond that hole.
Abel stood in front of her, furred body pressed against her legs, as Summer came up from behind. Their growling sounded like the idling of a semi truck.
The trunk crumbled and flaked away into the shape of the arch.
The man who stepped through was taller than Rylie, his form slender and skin pallid. He wore a slim-fitting jacket that buttoned at the throat. His hair was slicked back. At a glance, Rylie would have said that he was a normal man—all the parts were in the right places, with two arms, two legs, a nose and mouth.
Except that Rylie recognized him. She had seen etchings of this guy passed around so that anyone who spotted him would know that the infernal army wouldn’t be far behind. The artist’s rendering of his features had been perfect, from the hollow cheeks to the shadowed eyes, his unsettling stare.
It was Belphegor, and he was in Shamain.
Seventeen
The clearing in Colorado was empty when James returned to it, although there were obvious signs that Stephanie—and the Apple—had tried to brute force the gate open. The snow had been tro
dden to a muddy mush. There were scorch marks on the pillars.
Just because they had given up on it for now didn’t mean that they had gone far. James didn’t have much time.
He needed a new plan.
The gate itself still wasn’t working, but the sky had torn open and created a direct route to Heaven. He didn’t need ethereal artifacts now; he only needed to calculate the physical location of Shamain relative to his position and make a portal that would lead there. And he needed to do it before Stephanie came back.
He scuffed the snow away from the base of the gate, baring the ground underneath. He had spray-painted a circle of power on the hard-packed dirt. It was one of the most elaborate runes that he had ever created—more elaborate than the one that had been required to erase Abel’s scent from the sanctuary, but less elaborate than the time he had broken out of a prison in Dis with nothing but his blood.
The magic was complicated enough that James struggled to understand what he had done, even now. He had painted it over the course of weeks, trapped in a haze, almost like he was drawing it from pictures in his dreams. He’d been forced to restart twice. He barely recognized the rune that remained.
And that had been when he could focus. Now he couldn’t stop thinking of Elise’s body against his, her lips attached to his wrist, how close he had come to death.
There had been a moment after orgasm where she had gone completely limp and James’s heart had refused to beat. He wasn’t sure what had been more frightening: watching her collapse in front of him, or feeling like every one of his body’s organs was shutting down. He’d been momentarily convinced that they’d managed to kill themselves.
Who knew what would happen when mage blood mingled with that of a god-demon?
Scariest of all, in retrospect, was how readily he would have done it again—opened a vein and risked death just for a few minutes of feeling, for the first time in years, that he wasn’t missing half of his soul.