by Amy Braun
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” I whispered. “I fucking swear it.”
I shouldn’t have been promising anything, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted Max to live. No matter what he said about me, I wasn’t going to be alive at the end. I could think of no one better to protect my little sister when my heart finally stopped beating.
Max and I parted and I gave him a phony smile, slapping him on the shoulder. He grinned nervously, then looked over my shoulder.
“Uh, I’m gonna go… wander, or something.”
I nodded, watching him walk away. He wasn’t gone for more than three seconds before Warrick placed his hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see his worried green eyes.
“He’s right, you know,” he told me. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” His expression turned stony and determined. “I want to kill Drake, but if I have to choose between ending him and saving you, I’m going to save you.”
My heart went to my throat. I’d never been this deep in love before. It wasn’t fair for my soul to ache like this when I knew it wasn’t going to last.
I tried to lie, but with the moonlight illuminating his dark hair, the passionate glow in his laser green eyes, and the feel of his warm, strong hand on me, I couldn’t find the words.
I reached up to grab his neck and pulled him down to kiss me. It was a little desperate, but I didn’t care. This could be the last one. Warrick held me close, kissing me gently and brushing my hair with his fingers to calm me down. It wasn’t working.
My body demanded that I breathe, but I was reluctant to let go. I was so close to him that my lips brushed his when I spoke the words he deserved to hear.
“I love you.”
Warrick wasn’t stupid. He knew I was keeping something from him when I said that. But he must have seen the pleading look in my eyes. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. He nodded briefly, then held my face and kissed me again.
It felt like a kiss goodbye, and that was exactly what I needed.
***
Max was right. It wasn’t even two hours before Lucifer and his demons came for us.
I was sitting on the dead grass between Warrick and Max, holding my boyfriend’s hand, when I smelled the sulfur. I lifted my head and watched the air in front of me rip in half. Fire twisted out of the portal, shadows of monsters and men stepping through.
There were so many of them. Reds, ghouls, Shredders, Wretches, hellhounds, Knights… so many that I lost count. Warrick squeezed my hand, but I wasn’t scared. Knowing I was finally confronting the end brought me a peace I hadn’t expected. Sure, I wasn’t looking forward to the pain coming my way, but at least I would be free of it all one way or another.
The demons didn’t charge us. They were twitching with anticipation, hungry for flesh, but waiting for their master’s permission.
The fire from the portal belched again, and this time it brought out the beings in control. Drake stepped out first, dressed in a dark hunting jacket and dirty jeans, a smile on his face and malice in his eyes. Both Warrick and Max tensed beside me.
Mateo came out of the portal next. He’d donned a black tactical getup, the same as the one he’d worn when he’d worked with me on the streets. His hair was slicked back and he wore the belt with a rose buckle around his waist. His hand in the black fingerless glove curled around the machete at his hip. His eyes went straight to me, ready to burst into madness.
Stepping out at last, hand in hand, were the King and his daughter. Lucifer looked torturously beautiful, wearing a black frock coat that went all the way to his ankles. He wore dress pants and a black suit jacket but no shirt, revealing the chiseled muscles on his pale skin. The huge claymore sword I’d once seen him carry was resting on his back. He looked like a businessman who part-timed as medieval warrior.
Beside him was my little sister, but she looked nothing like the girl I grew up with and protected for almost seventeen years.
An elegant black dress clung to her body, thin silk hanging around her legs with a slit exposing three quarters of her right leg. The wide leather wrapped around her waist matched the black leather of her ankle boots. The top of the dress was sleeveless black lace cut down the front to show the curves of her breasts. Dro’s hair was free of her usual braid, hanging in loose waves down the sides of her torso. Her lips were painted blood red and dark kohl circled her eyes. She looked beautiful, and terrifying.
Dro’s eyes met mine, but offered no expression. No joy or fear or hope or even anger. There was nothing. It saddened me to look at her. So I didn’t.
“You wish to end your battle where it began,” Lucifer’s deep, beautiful voice sang to me.
I slowly got to my feet, Warrick and Max rising with me. I started walking forward, feeling Warrick hold onto my hand until he was forced to let go. I steadily crossed the clearing, trying not to see the salivating demon army or the angry eyes of my enemies.
“Yeah,” I told Lucifer when I came to a stop. “Something like that.”
His obsidian eyes pierced into me as he invaded my mind. I balled my fists and tried to push him out, but he was seeing everything. All of my grief and regrets, the love I had to lose for Warrick, the conviction and understanding that I wasn’t going to survive this. I let him see everything.
Except for Michael and Sephiel.
When Lucifer left my brain, I was dizzy. I blinked to clear my head, then stared at Lucifer again.
“You still refused to heed your sister’s pleas,” he said. “How selfish of you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I looked at Dro. “She’ll understand, though.”
Dro’s lips formed a narrow line, and her ice blue eyes turned stormy.
Okay, well she wasn’t going to understand instantly.
“I do not see the fallen Michael or the disloyal Sephiel,” Lucifer went on. “Where have they gone?”
I shrugged. “Disneyland maybe. Mexico’s usually beautiful this time of year, but you kind of fucked it up, so they needed to go somewhere else.”
Lucifer held out his hand and fired a needle of hellfire at me. I flinched, having nothing to block it and no way to avoid it. The needle stopped inches from my face, so close I thought I was going to breathe it in. I was nervous as hell, but I didn’t back down. The needle split in two and circled around my head, dissolving at my back. He was trying to scare me, but I was done with being afraid of him.
“I know Michael too well to assume he has abandoned his attempts at defiance. As you can see, I am prepared for him. But I promised another combat with you.”
Oh, joy.
Not to anyone’s surprise, Mateo stalked forward. He moved like a bull getting ready to plow into the matador. Warrick must have come up behind me, because Lucifer held up his hand. Wind rushed around me, I whirled my head around and watched him and Max land on the ground ten feet away from me, rolling to catch themselves.
“You will not interfere again.”
That was the only thing Lucifer needed to say.
I gave them a despairing look, then turned around to Mateo. He was in the clearing directly in front of me, beyond furious. I wondered what was stopping him from killing me right now, until he started unbuckling his belt.
I gave him a dry look. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not in the mood.”
Mateo glared, gripping his machete and holster so tightly I thought his knuckles were going to tear through the leather of his gloves.
“I’m going to have your fucking head by the end of the night,” he promised. “But I want you to hurt first. I want you to feel all the pain you caused me.”
He tossed the machete and the remainder of his weapons into the grass on his left. He still didn’t move his eyes from mine. I sighed, and began taking off my belt and holster.
“How much do you think renovations are gonna cost you?” I asked.
Mateo clenched his fists. “Do you have any idea how long my family had that house? How hard my father fought to maintain it
and keep it out of government hands?”
I threw my weapons aside and spread my legs to get balance. “Can’t have been too hard when he had everybody in his pocket, could it?”
The second my weapons were out of reach, Mateo lunged for me. His fist shot forward with alarming speed, and I barely leaned away from it in time. I grabbed his wrist and held his arm out, pulling my free hand back to break his arm. Mateo snared my elbow and dragged it down. I kicked for his knee, but he stepped back and drove his far knee into my stomach. Air left my lungs in a huff, but I stayed on my feet and tried to get my arms free. Before I could move, Mateo kicked the back of my leg and buckled me. The arm I’d been holding got free, and soon his hand clamped around my throat.
Mateo kept pushing until I was pinned on the ground, crushed under his weight. He freed his other hand and swung it for me. I tried to block him, but he batted my arm away and hit me before I could get another counter.
Pain exploded as his fist collided with my head, just above the eyebrow. The leather of his gloves scratched over my skin, splitting it open. The world spun as I turned my head straight, feeling Mateo squeeze my neck. He raised his fist again, though this time I caught it before the strike could connect. I wiggled until I knew I had room, then bucked up and pitched Mateo to my right. He fell off me and I was freed. I scrambled to my feet, bringing up my hands when he kicked for my stomach.
He was back on his feet in nanoseconds, punching and kicking furiously. I matched him strike for strike, blocking and dodging, trying to remember the way he fought in our sparring sessions. It was more or less the same style, but a lot more aggressive. He’d hit me during training, claiming that he never wanted to do it but had to make me learn. This wasn’t the same, of course. He wasn’t going to stop until he’d broken every bone in my body.
Mateo snapped a front kick toward my chest, but I caught it. While he was off balance, I planted my foot in his exposed ribs. He grunted and grimaced as I kicked him again. I dropped his leg and rushed in close, crashing my fist into his jaw. When I tried to punch him again, he grabbed my wrist and yanked it out to the side. Pain shot up my arm as he tried to pull it from its socket. I couldn’t get my defense up before he punched me in the chest.
My collarbone reverberated with pain, but I twisted to ease the pressure on my arm and stayed in front of him. I blocked another hit coming for my head, using my free arm to sweep off his hold. Mateo snarled and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked my head so violently I stumbled.
I let him keep the grip on my hair, focusing on blocking the punch he aimed at my face. I knocked it aside and shot a jab into his nose. His head rocked back and my hair was released. Furious, I jumped onto him and wrapped my legs around his ribs. I planted one hand on the top of his head and used the other to hit him in the face. It was an awkward position, but I was getting the upper hand.
Until Mateo grabbed my waist, pulled me off him, and hurled me onto the ground.
I rolled on the dead grass, winded from slamming into it. I saw him coming behind me and started to get to my feet. He grabbed one of my ankles and wrenched me back. I flipped around as I was dragged, kicking out with my free foot to catch him in the stomach. My foot skidded against his ribs, but Mateo was on a rampage. He probably wasn’t feeling any of the pain I was sending his way.
He tried knocking my legs aside, but I pushed up and slid myself back until I was out of his reach. I shot my knee into his chin, rocking his head back. Mateo shouted, and I thought I saw blood on the insides of his lips. He must have bitten his tongue. I got to my feet and kicked at his head. He batted my leg away and stood up, firing a powerful kick into my abdomen. I stumbled back and barely kept my footing.
When I lifted my head, Mateo was there again. He punched me in the temple, rocking my head to the side, and directly into his second fist. It struck my cheek and wrenched my head again. The world was a blur when his palm slammed into my chest. I staggered for a moment until my feet were swept out from under me. I landed on my back, my head smacking against the hard soil.
I turned to get my bearings, but Mateo was standing over me. He stomped down on my exposed side. I screamed when I felt one of my ribs crack. I rolled onto my back when his foot crashed down again, sending all of the air out of my diaphragm. I coughed as his boot rose again, aiming for my chest. As it descended, I snapped my hands up and caught it. My knuckles dug into my chest, but it was better than him breaking my collarbone.
I pulled his leg forward and swept mine out to trip him. He collapsed onto his back and I tried to get up again. Mateo was faster, his leg swinging up into my chest and knocking me back down. While I was winded, he scissored his foot so his heel dug into the top of my stomach. It was like having the edge of a baseball bat driven into me.
My entire body felt like a bruised mess, and my head was ten sizes too big. I used my elbows to get leverage, but Mateo crawled over to me and drove the tip of his knee into my chest. I cried out from the massive, crushing pain, which only made him press down harder. I swung my fist into his ribs. He jerked once, but didn’t get off of me. All I did was shift his knee across my chest.
Mateo punched down, his fist catching me right between the eyes. My head bounced off the dirt, blacking me out for a second. The hits kept coming, filling my vision with darkness. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back.
By the time he was finished, my entire face felt broken. Blood was welling into my head, and I was on the edges of a concussion. My nose was busted, but at least I still had my teeth. Mateo finally got off my chest. My lungs swelled and pushed on the bruises covering my torso. I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, feeling about as strong as a dead fish.
Mateo was walking away. The only reason he would do that was if he was getting his machete. He’d beaten me enough. He was ready to kill me.
I looked up. Some time during the fight, we’d ended up by our weapons. My hatchet was in sight. I crawled for it, forcing myself onto my hands and knees to move faster. My hand had just curled around the neck of the weapon and pulled it free when a foot slammed into my stomach. The motion flipped me through the air until I landed on the grass again.
Mateo knelt down and straddled my chest, gripping my hair with one hand and tugging my head back. The cold metal blade touched my throat, sharp enough to kill me in one swipe. My hands were free, but I didn’t dare move. Not yet.
“I would have given you everything, Constance,” Mateo said. “I loved you with all my heart.” His eyes darkened. “I never thought I would hate you with all my heart, too.”
He raised the machete. It gleamed in the moonlight. I heard Warrick screaming. My fingers snaked through the grass.
The blade began to descend, and I moved as fast as I could. I punched Mateo in the stomach. The hit forced his swing to go wide, just barely slicing along my collarbone. With my right hand, I grabbed the hilt of the hatchet and swung it into his unprotected ribs.
Mateo screamed and grabbed my wrist, ditching the machete and trying to tear the hatchet free with both of his hands. I refused to let go. While he was distracted, I grabbed the machete that had fallen next to my head. I swung it up and drove it into his ribs.
Mateo stiffened and gasped in shock as the blade slid home to his heart. He looked down at me, stunned that I had tricked him. My eyes were cold as I twisted the blade. He jerked and coughed, spraying blood onto my neck and face. Mateo’s eyes began to glaze over, and it wasn’t hard to push him off my chest.
I coughed at the release of pressure, gripping my hatchet and his machete tightly. Mateo lay on his side, staring at me with dying eyes. I rested on my hands and knees, sore and breathing heavily, watching my first love die. After a long, long time, Mateo’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. His entire body slumped with a final, sharp breath, then stopped moving all together.
Mateo looked dead to me, but after so many years of running from him, I had to be sure. I crawled closer and cut his throat with my hatchet. Blood squirt
ed out, but he didn’t move. His skin began to fill with black veins, tiny cracks zipping over him as his body crumbled in on itself. His remains imploded inside his clothes, and suddenly he was gone.
So was the fragment lodged inside of him.
I moaned painfully, dropping Mateo’s machete and clutching my aching stomach. Warrick was still shouting for me, though I didn’t raise my head to look at him. I felt sick, but I had to stand up. I used one knee for leverage and slowly rose to my feet. I tilted once, then caught myself and straightened my back. I looked in Warrick’s direction, letting him see I was alive.
I must have looked terrible, because his eyes widened with horror and Max turned paper white. Still gripping my stomach and my hatchet, I turned around to face Lucifer. His face was as impassive as always. Beside him, Dro’s jaw had dropped. She saw me looking at her, and quickly pressed her lips together.