Seven Seals, Books 1 & 2

by Traci Douglass

  A small eternity and a million twists and turns later, they exited through a doorway. The temperature rose by several degrees. Humidity abounded. The pungent odor of rot and wet earth wafted. Nothing but black surrounded her. The downward tilt of her body meant they were descending. Caves, maybe? Shit! Not Gehenna again. If the guys were right and Lucifer was here . . . Still, he hadn’t made an appearance. Not yet, anyway.

  They rounded a corner and Mira found herself upright again. She glanced around. Torches blazed along the walls of a large auditorium. Her mouth-breather escorts turned, stopped. Mira spotted a stone platform at the room’s center. Before she could study it closer, the guards swiveled again and continued down the stairs. Their shadows loomed, cast by the firelight to shoot upward like carnival caricatures. Only one thought echoed in Mira’s mind, a skipping record caught on repeat. Where the hell was Kagan?

  • • •

  Argus watched the buffoons cart their bundle toward the platform. He squirmed against his own bonds while they tossed their cargo on the slab beside his. Glimpses of chestnut curls and a hint of spicy scent identified the package before they pulled the tarp away. The guards strapped her struggling form tight and left. When they were alone, he gave a cackle and a less-than-subtle snort. “Well, well, if it isn’t the fucking princess? Not so high and mighty now, are you, bitch?”

  Mira rolled her eyes. “It must suck to be a loser in two different life forms, huh Argus?”

  “You don’t know anything, nerdgasm. You couldn’t satisfy old McClaine here, let alone a pussy Scion boyfriend.” She tensed against her restraints and he smiled. Hit a nerve, eh? Argus chuckled. “Aw, what’s a matter? He up and leave your sorry ass already?”

  Footsteps announced the return of the security team. This time the guards moved toward Argus. Two flanked him on either side while another dressed in a lab coat stepped up on the platform with a doctor’s bag in hand. He laid out his instruments beside Argus’s head—clamps, picks, and a nasty-looking scalpel. Normally, he’d enjoy this type of foreplay. Not today. Anger boiled deep. Yet try as he might, his powers refused to surface.

  Argus roiled in vain against his chains. The chains! He squinted at the cuffs, frowned at the telltale hint of copper. Fucking demon’s bane. They’d forged the steel with it. Probably formed the bullet from the stuff too. His pierced heart lurched in response. Sweet Mary on a chopper! The bastards had found his weakness. Fuck it all!

  Doctor Death pulled on a pair of latex gloves and nodded. The man ripped open Argus’s shirt to expose the amulet’s burn mark. Cold air seeped into his heated skin and left goose flesh in its wake. From his position, Argus could barely spy the bottom edge of the sigil. Ah, hell to the fucking no!

  The scalpel glinted as the man lowered it toward Argus’s chest. He barked an order in Enochian. “Allar iadpil vgeg!”

  The goddamn wankers pressed his arms tight to the slab. Argus jerked. The blade carved deep, cleaving a neat square of flesh from his breastbone. Exquisite pain radiated from his chest, sparking agony throughout his body. Hot blood coursed from the wound. Argus waited for the healing to begin, but nothing happened. In fact, none of his wounds had healed since the douche had shot him in the interrogation room.

  The surgeon stepped away and placed the seeping piece of hide on a white linen cloth before handing the bundle to the Director, who waited in the shadows. Job completed, he snapped off his gloves and tossed them. The bloody scalpel followed soon after. After a last glance at his handiwork, the butcher of Wanker Town, USA picked up his bag and left. Argus discovered agony without healing wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Mr. Propellerhead better hope he never regained his strength or else he’d be one dead mimbo.

  He turned toward Mira again and caught her gaze before she looked away, her face pale and strained. His blood continued to drip to the stone platform below. Argus chuckled at the thought of the scrawny surgeon with a roasting spit up his ass. Mira shot him a withering glare and struggled against her restraints. Her fear coated his tongue like the best champagne. Gleeful anticipation filled his floundering demon heart. “Don’t worry, Mira. You’re next.”

  Chapter 18

  Seven flashes of light pierced the forest surrounding the Tolbert complex. The warriors dressed in black, their long coats concealing an array of weapons. Xander checked his watch and nodded to Kagan then lifted the amulet from his pocket and slipped it over his head. The talisman glowed brighter in response to the approaching alignment.

  Kagan headed across the snow toward the entrance. His black sunglasses hid his growing anxiety from the group. Buono. Mira was his number one priority.

  He approached the glass entry doors. Five armed guards stood poised around a terminal inside. He pulled on the door. Unlocked. Confirmation Tolbert expected the Scion this night. Kagan stepped into the marble lobby and focused on the security station.

  Five pairs of mirrored sunglasses stared back at him, the expressions beneath impassive, inhuman. He moved forward and a sixth officer blocked his path, metal detector in hand. Divinity was right, as always. These creatures were like robots, functioning off a hive-mind intellect that brooked nothing but conformity. Kagan smiled, an icy chill coursing through his veins and numbing his heart.

  The security guard ran the metal detector wand around the outline of his silhouette. A warning sounded within milliseconds. At the officer’s gesture, Kagan opened his coat to reveal a body packed to the gills with artillery. The guard reached for his own weapon. He didn’t get it out of the holster. Kagan put a bullet between his eyes. One less mind in the hive.

  He stepped over the fresh corpse, a second gun in hand to blast simultaneously. Bullets sprayed the lobby. The tang of gunpowder and warm blood choked the air. He moved deeper before signaling for the waiting Scion to join him. The guards began dropping like stones. Kagan ducked behind a pillar and tossed away his spent weapons. Through the cacophony, one guard radioed for backup. Merda! Kagan leaned around the corner to fire. He never got the chance. The man’s chest erupted in crimson, riddled from behind with Xander’s bullets.

  Fresh weapons in hand, courtesy of the deceased guard, Kagan joined the rest of the Scion. They lined up across the lobby, a wall of impenetrable force, armed to the canines and pissed beyond reason. Soon, a flood of Nephilim reinforcements streamed into the room from the elevators and stairwells. One man stepped forward, semiautomatic at the ready. “Surrender, Scion, and we may let you live. Our fight is not with you.”

  Kagan surveyed the gathered assembly with a quirked brow. His smile never wavered as he pulled out two Uzis. “Want to bet?”

  • • •

  The staccato ping of distant gunfire echoed off the cavern walls.

  Argus gritted his teeth and tried again to loosen the chains around his hands and feet. The wound on his chest remained open, his regeneration powers gone. Those fucking half-breeds had poisoned him. Reduced him to nothing more than the humans he despised.

  Footsteps approached. Argus squinted up into the Director’s condescending smirk. “Thought you might like to see what your death has wrought, demon.”

  He pulled open the collar of the cassock he wore. Argus’s gaze snagged on an amulet glowing beneath the heavy black fabric. A second Antares? Realization dawned on a rush of fury.

  “Skin makes an excellent mold and demon scales are even better.” The Director stepped back and closed his robe, sliding a glance at Mira in the process. “Now, demon. You’ve fulfilled the bargain.”

  Another knuckle dragger armed with a sinister semiautomatic approached while the Director uttered his travesty of a benediction. “Teloch amma doalim siatris.” May death lift your curse, scorpion. Argus pulled with all his strength against the iron chains. Like hell, you fashion-challenged mothafucka!

  The guard opened fire. Bullets ripped through Argus’s flesh, his body jerking in a macabre breakdance. He rolled to one side, his last sight the stream of his own blood and fluids flowing over the platform to gather in a bas
in at the center. Well, screw me good and call me a whore. The bastards killed me. His furious screams rang out before the darkness descended.

  • • •

  The Scion split into two groups, dodging between marble columns. The Nephilim charged the middle of the lobby. Kagan led the three newest Scion up the left colonnade while Xander surged right with Chago and Wyck.

  Chips of travertine rained in a blizzard of debris. Bullets ricocheted off every surface. A soldier stepped out from behind one of the columns and managed to land a bullet in Kagan’s thigh before his spine was severed by a well-aimed shot from Kagan’s own Heckler & Koch. Bastardo!

  Newbie Scion Barron, exhibiting perfect athletic prowess, executed a running flip off the nearest wall to snap a Nephilm’s neck when he landed. Kagan lifted a brow when Barron retrieved the guard’s weapon. He caught Kagan’s eye and grinned. “Surfer training.”

  • • •

  Across the room, Xander tossed his spent Uzis and reached under his coat to remove a matching set of Sig Sauers. He waited until Wyck and Chago each emptied their rounds and ducked behind columns to refuel before stepping out. He moved forward, firing continuously to clear the path. Nephilim bodies dropped like New Year’s Eve balls in hyperdrive.

  Chago peeked around a column several yards to his front, and Xander halted fire. The other warrior stepped out to slice off an opponent’s head with his machete. He sent Xander a curt nod and disappeared again. Xander smiled through the accumulated Nephilim goo now covering his face. There was nothing like a good battle to get the blood pumping.

  After tossing his now empty Sigs aside, Xander dove for an abandoned M16, his body sliding across the floor. He snatched the weapon in passing, cocked, and fired into the center of the room. His wild ride ended with a thud against Chago’s booted feet. The warrior helped him stand then moved to check on Wyck. Xander glanced out into the deserted lobby. Job well done.

  He spoke too soon. A gun cocked beside his ear. Fuck. Xander closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his gaze drifting sideways to sight his would-be executioner. The killer’s voice sounded oddly quiet, soothing after the cacophony of bullet fire. “Now, Scion, you die.”

  A flash of movement caught Xander’s attention. Wyck jumped the guard from behind, kicking the weapon from his hands before he could react. With a quick swivel and twirl of his opponent’s semi-automatic rifle, Wyck blew a hole straight through the Nephilim soldier’s heart. The man fell at Wyck’s feet and he toed the body away, stepping over the remains to toss his eyewear in a nearby trashbin. “Blimey tosser broke my shades.”

  Xander stepped into the center of the lobby while Kagan and his team finished off the remaining guards on their side of the room. The Scion reunited and stormed forward. Seven massive warriors flooded the stairwell. Xander stopped Wyck with a hand on his arm and handed him a new pair of glasses. “You’re going to need these.”

  • • •

  Mira surveyed the newly congregated Nephilim, a sea of mirrored reflections and dark wool suits. She struggled against her restraints while the Director addressed the crowd.

  Her mark seared, oozing wet, sticky blood when it scraped on the stone below. The stench from Argus’s murder was beyond horrendous, and her stomach continued its unending roil. She registered the Director’s English speech and wondered if it was for her benefit. She didn’t waste brain cells thinking about it. No, she needed those to get the hell out of Deliverance-ville.

  His clipped, monotone delivery was worse than any long-winded school principal. “Behold, the time has come. The sacrifice is prepared and the conduit is ready. Tonight the Seal will be opened, and we shall dine on the blood of our enemies.”

  He lifted his arms high, bestowing a blessing on the crowd below.

  At his nod, two guards stepped up on the platform, dragging a struggling Zoe behind. Chains and manacles hung from the ceiling in true sadistic fashion. The men shackled her wrists, then attached them to a hook hanging nearby. She was gagged and left to dangle on her tiptoes at Mira’s side.

  She caught Zoe’s eye and they exchanged a look. Zoe’s psychic channels nudged against her mind and Mira allowed her entrance. Zoe’s relief and frustration flooded her like thin maple syrup.

  They’re coming for us. Kagan will get you out. They have a plan. The words repeated in an endless loop. Maybe things would turn out all right. She pictured Kagan’s face, and warmth spread through her cold stiff limbs. Sure. Things would be fine.

  Or not.

  The Director stepped next to Mira, looming above her while he reached to stroke her hair. An eerie smile creased his lips. “You should be honored, Limlal.”

  Mira growled around her gag, hacking him apart with her glare. He caressed her cheek before landing a hard blow to her temple. Through the stars dancing in front of her eyes, Mira saw him motion for the crowd to quiet.

  “The time has come.”

  Christ, Kagan! A single, frustrated tear escaped. Where are you?

  • • •

  The pounding drums and rhythmic chants grew louder, drawing the warriors. Xander hugged the rocks as he neared the entrance. Gun at the ready, he poked his head around the corner. Sweet Christ!

  Thousands of Nephilim filled the space, their droning tones mirroring the blankness of their expressions. At the center of it all lay a large stone platform. The Director stood beside Mira, Zoe, and a bullet-ravaged corpse.

  Something else lurked in the shadows. Xander couldn’t place it yet. Something cold, calculating and gleefully evil. Lucifer. Of course, he wouldn’t miss this shindig.

  Xander closed his eyes and forced a mental nudge in Zoe’s direction. Her attention snapped toward him, her dark gaze searching. He ran a quick scan and found no permanent damage to her person before pulling away. Good. Now he could concentrate on the business at hand. The Nephilim remained unaware of the intruders, earnest in their fanatical fervor.

  “What’s going on, Xan?” Kagan asked, straining his neck to peer beyond the shadows. “Is Mira all right?”

  “Yes. She’s alive.” Xander edged away from the door. “The room’s crawling with Nephilim, though.”

  “I’m ready.” Chago pulled out two wicked-sharp daggers and started toward the entrance.

  Xander blocked him. “Wait. Here’s the plan.”

  • • •

  Kagan paused at the top of the stone stairs. The Director led the chant beneath the flickering torchlight. He stepped into the auditorium, his focus on Mira. I’m coming, ti amo.

  The moment his foot landed on the ground, all chanting ceased. The Nephilim turned en masse to face him. Kagan flashed an ironic grin and began his descent, his focus squared on the woman he loved while his gaze scanned the bland faces around him. He reached the bottom of the stairs and his attention landed on the Director.

  “Welcome, Scion. Join the celebration, won’t you?” The condescension and hate reeking in the Director’s tone made Kagan’s teeth ache. He sneered as the half-breed clenched his hands in front of his swirling black cassock.

  “Give me the girl, Jetrel.”

  If the man was surprised at Kagan’s use of his given name, his expression gave nothing away. Instead he laughed, a hard sound brimming with insanity. “Oh, Kagan. I’m afraid I can’t do that. We need her to complete the Triumvirate.” He shrugged and gestured to the wall. “Wait a few more minutes, won’t you? Then you can take home what’s left.”

  Kagan glanced toward the entrance and nodded.

  Xander stepped into the archway. “Mind if we join the fun?” He entered, orange-hued light glinting off the Uzi resting casually against his shoulder.

  “We brought party favors,” Chago said, descending from yet another entrance on the opposite side. The blades of his daggers sparkled as he twirled them between his fingers.

  The Director smiled, stepping closer to Mira. “The more the merrier.”

  Kagan launched forward. The Director motioned to someone at the fringe of the platform and met Ka
gan’s attack. Their bodies collided in a clash of fists and limbs before they crashed to the floor. Kagan landed several hard punches to the Director’s face and neck before receiving a few brutal blows.

  The Scion opened fire, charging the auditorium.

  Kagan rolled and the Director’s fist slammed into the stone beside his head. The granite crumbled beneath his opponent’s punch, a sign of the Nephilim’s famed strength in hand-to-hand combat and a remnant of their warrior angel past. He blocked another lightning-fast jab, but he knew his own limitations. He needed to end this quickly.

  Kagan snapped a brutal upper cut to the Director’s jaw. The man tumbled over the platform to crash into the rock wall behind. Stone chips scattered. His body slumped to the ground with a thud, his mirrored glasses dangling crookedly from one ear.

  Kagan scrambled to his feet and rushed to Mira’s side. Three scarlet-hooded figures headed in their direction. He struggled to loosen the restraints from her wrists. He had one knot undone when an iron grip spun him around.

  Fists pummeled his face. A hard strike clipped the side of his head. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He fell to his knees, his hand still clutching Mira’s ankle. Kagan blinked up into the Director’s angry scowl. Mira’s scream echoed through his fuzzy brain.

  His nemesis clutched him by the neck and hoisted him high into the air, the alabaster fingers squeezing his trachea shut. Through bloodshot eyes, Kagan glanced to Mira. One hooded figure withdrew a needle from her arm and held up a vial of blood. Two others flipped her over and poised a golden dagger high above the Seal’s mark. Cazzo!

  His oxygen supply reached critical, and his pulse slowed to a halt. His arms refused to move and his muscles cramped. “Time to die, Scion.”

  The Director crushed Kagan’s windpipe and hurled him across the room like a bag of rotten onions. He struck the rock wall, only vaguely aware of the sickening crunch of his spine. He slid to the ground amidst a rain of debris. The resulting avalanche buried him beneath its crushing weight, his hand caught mid-reach toward the platform. In his last breath, he called out for Mira.