Salvation: A Realm of Flame and Shadow Novel

by Phillips, Christina

  “You know the drill.” Faint amusement threaded through his voice. “The rest of the night is filled with expensive booze and decadent debauchery.”

  Sure, some of the members enjoyed the drink and orgies, but it had never been her thing. And she was far from alone in that. Although it seemed the new recruits she’d initiated were already both half drunk and half naked.

  She turned away from the scene and looked at Zane. “That’s a hard pass.”

  “Thought it might be. Nijah.” He glanced over Bella’s shoulder, and Nijah strolled to his side. “Are you in agreement?” he asked her.

  Nijah’s midnight gaze seared into her as though she wanted to turn her soul inside out. Bella stared back, unblinking. She’d just slit the throats of five demon bloods. She wasn’t going to falter just because the leader of the Watchers was indulging in a show of power.

  “I am.” Nijah held out her hand, and Zane placed something on her palm. “Normally we would have a ceremony.” Her voice was dry. “But this will have to do.” She took Bella’s right hand and slid a purple tourmaline ring onto her middle finger. “Welcome. The Forbidden Archives are now yours to peruse.”

  Bella glanced at the ring. It was a perfect fit. And it was her key to access all areas that until now had been prohibited. She wasn’t concerned by Nijah’s barb. Most members craved to know the hidden secrets of the Watchers, but only the Elite held that privilege.

  “Thank you. With your leave, I’ll retire.” Give her newly elevated status she probably didn’t need to formally request such a thing, but she didn’t want to make an enemy of Nijah.

  Nijah inclined her head in assent, and Bella left the platform and made her way to the elevator. As soon as she was back in her room, she gingerly pulled the headdress off. It weighed a ton and she placed it on her bed. Her headache was getting worse by the second and she massaged her scalp, as she sent healing energy through her mind.

  The pain faded, and she tilted her hand in the glow of the bedside lamp. The oval, faceted, gemstone was so pretty.

  Although she had many good friends within the Watchers, she had never been able to share everything with them because of her promise to Eblis. It had created a wedge between them, an insidious conviction that she didn’t quite belong in the way everyone else did, even if that belief existed only in her mind.

  It felt good, to finally be appreciated by her peers. And although they were still unaware of the full extent of her abilities, at least now she wouldn’t be plagued by guilt that she was hiding so much from her friends. If not for Eblis and his insistence on secrecy, she would’ve received this honor years ago.

  Why had he always been so insistent on that? She’d gone along with it because, in the purest sense of the word, he was her savior. And he’d alerted her to the existence of the Watchers. If he had reasons, they were sure to be good ones and even though she’d often wondered about it over the years, she’d always given him the benefit of the doubt.

  But now, the questions wouldn’t rest.

  Seemed she was questioning everything lately.

  Well, whatever Eblis’ true motives one thing hadn’t changed. He needed the immortal forged sword, and she’d pledged to discover whether the Watchers had it. Even though she suspected Nate had taken it, she didn’t have any proof. But at least she could now access the Forbidden Archives, which was as good a starting place as any.

  She glanced down at the glittery dress. She could change it, but that would cost her time, and right now she had more pressing concerns. Eblis might want her to find the sword, but she had another reason to go to the archives.

  She wanted to find out more about Nate.

  With a final glance at her ring, she picked up her phone and left the room. On the ground floor there was a public library, with enough history to satisfy new members for countless years. But the Forbidden Archives were subterranean, accessible from an antechamber open only to Elites.

  The guard standing outside the antechamber opened the door as she approached. She went inside and walked across the thick rug on the floor, to the iron door set in the stone wall.

  She took a deep breath, butterflies swirling through her, then pressed her ring against the lock.

  The door swung open, revealing a spiral staircase that descended into darkness. How medieval.

  How apt.

  Before she’d mastered the art of teleportation, and long before she had discovered her true heritage, she’d spent years living on her wits, and always making sure she had an exit strategy. It had been a long time since she’d left that squalid existence, but the caution remained, hardwired into her reflexes.

  She picked up a stone statue of an unfortunate-looking gargoyle, and wedged it against the doorframe, before once again peering into the dark.

  Weren’t there any lights? It was all very well keeping things mysterious, but she didn’t want to trip on the hem of her dress and end up breaking her neck. Gingerly she patted the inside wall, but couldn’t feel a switch, so used her phone light instead.

  As she stepped on the second stair, the door behind her swung shut, catching on the gargoyle, leaving a comforting escape hatch. Shadows leaped from the walls and the black pit beneath her feet, and her heart hammered in her ears. It was a relief when she reached the final stair, especially when the light from her phone landed on a switch set into the wall.

  She flipped it on, and dull electric light flooded the chamber.

  It was a lot smaller than she’d imagined. An arch led to another, even smaller chamber, but it appeared empty.

  Odd.

  She glanced around. A lectern was in the center of the room and great leather-bound tomes filled the shelves that were set into the stone walls. There were no caskets on the floor that might conceal a sword. Maybe there was a hidden safe behind the books, but she wasn’t counting on it. Despite Eblis’ certainty, she’d never been convinced the Watchers were in possession of it.

  Her glance came back to the adjoining room. Curious, she went over to the arch to get a closer look, in case she’d missed something. It really was tiny. If she stood in the center of the room and held out her arms, she’d almost be able to touch the walls.

  A shiver skated along her arms and she stepped back. The room was empty, but there was something very wrong about it.

  She went back into the other room and scrutinized the volumes. They were written in Sanskrit, Egyptian and Latin, and awe rippled through her as she traced a finger over their cracked spines. Were they copies of the originals, or really as ancient as they appeared?

  None of those questions were important. She’d kept her promise to Eblis and risen in the ranks. Tomorrow, she’d join the Elite in their exclusive celebration of the Equinox and that was when she planned on raising the topic of an immortal forged sword. But right now, she needed to find any reference she could about Nate.

  It took longer than she was comfortable with, but finally she found it. A volume from a Mayan scholar, dedicated to the Archangel Nathanael.

  Guilt chewed through her as she pulled the book from the shelf. She was an Elite. She had the right to read anything and everything within this library that she wished.

  But that wasn’t the source of her guilt, and she knew it. It was because this felt somehow as though she was betraying Nate.

  She hesitated, unsure. The library upstairs had a great deal to say about him. How he’d been one of the foremost archangels in driving demons from Earth and had then made it his mission to hunt down any stragglers and their offspring.

  What more could there be, that was so despicable that it needed to be hidden? More importantly, did she really want to know what greater sins he’d committed?

  No.

  Her fingers tightened around the book. Her personal feelings were irrelevant. Okay, that was a lie as they had everything to do with this. But just because she was getting cold feet was no excuse not to see this through.

  She went over to the lectern, opened the book and began t
o read.

  Nate

  With barely repressed disgust, Nate replaced a book on the shelf. He’d lost count of how many he’d glanced through in this demon spawn library, but without fail the content had one aim in mind.

  To distort the true history of archangels.

  It might piss him off, but none of it was revelatory. He swung around and glared at the guard who had led him here.

  “You wasted my time.” His voice was low and throbbed with menace. “I can find this shit anywhere.”

  “You weren’t specific.”

  Nate bared his teeth in a mirthless grin and his wings undulated. The guard swallowed, clearly rethinking his flippant attitude.

  “I can take you to the Forbidden Archives. But I can’t access it.”

  Nate didn’t deign to answer, and the guard led the way through the empty temple before entering a passageway. Another guard stood at a door and appeared riveted by the sight of his wings.

  “He needs access to the Forbidden Archives.”

  The other guard hastily opened the door and Nate strode into the circular room. Was this it?

  “Nijah said nothing to me about this,” the second guard said to the first.

  Nate swung around. “Then contact her. I’m sure she won’t mind the interruption.”

  His words meant the opposite, and they all knew it.

  The guard stood his ground, but Nate was damn sure he wasn’t sending a silent message to Nijah, not after his veiled threat. He stared them down until they retreated, shutting the door behind them.

  He exhaled a long breath and strode across the room to where a door was ajar. He glanced at the gargoyle keeping it open. If this led to the Forbidden Archives, then the security was crap.

  He pulled open the door. From far below, a glimmer of light glowed. Anticipation sizzled through his blood. Could it be Dagan? Doubtful, but he drew the sword in readiness, and the runes along its blade blazed with energy, before he stealthily descended the worn, stone steps.

  The room came into view. Standing at the central lectern was the female who’d undertaken the initiations. She was in profile, her long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, giving him just a glimpse of her face. But that glimpse was all he needed.

  Isabella.

  Paralyzed, he saw her straighten and turn to him, and it was as though time had slowed and nothing existed but this subterranean hell. Blood thudded in his ears, a relentless tattoo that filled his head and blurred his vision.

  Of everything but the woman who gazed at him in silent horror.

  She didn’t move and his gaze raked over her face. Her hypnotic eyes, delicate features, her tempting lips. His chest twisted, rebelled, and rejected the evidence standing before him.

  “You.” His voice was hoarse, accusing. His brain kickstarted, and ancient memories flooded through him. Of how demons had once enjoyed possessing feeble mortals and using them as puppets for their entertainment.

  Isabella isn’t feeble.

  But it was the only context that made any kind of sense.

  He leaped from the stair, extending his wings as far as possible within the confined space, and landed an arm’s length from her. She didn’t retreat, didn’t even flinch. He bared his teeth and only then did she gave a faint shudder.

  “What have you done with her?” He spat the words at her. Isabella was strong, she could fight this. And when he discovered which demon had defiled her, he’d rip their heart from their chest and shove it down their throat.

  Yet all the while a terrifying thread of denial whispered through him.

  “Nate.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard it above the cacophony playing out in his head. But he saw the truth in her eyes. Her beautiful, lying, demonic eyes. And his whole fucking chest cracked open.

  He swung his arm and leveled the sword at her heart, the tip of its blade a hairsbreadth from drawing blood. And still she didn’t retreat.

  “Who are you?” He flung the question at her, quashing the irrational urge to grab her and teleport them both somewhere far from here. Some place where this nightmare could be explained and understood, and the toxic acid eating through his gut would miraculously vanish.

  Her gaze flickered to his wings and for a fleeting second, wonder filled her expression. His chest cracked a little more and he gripped the hilt with both hands. He’d rip out his own fucking heart before he’d allow her to see his hands shake.

  Self-preservation forced him to fold his wings, to force her to once again look in his eyes and dare to lie to his face.

  “You know who I am.” She licked her lips, and he drew a grim, despairing pleasure from the knowledge she wasn’t as composed as she appeared. “I’ve never lied to you.”

  All demons lie.

  Another truth splintered his stupefied reflexes.

  She hadn’t been surprised by his appearance. She hadn’t expected to see him. But there’d been no questions, because she had damn well known who he really was.

  Right from the start. She’d known.

  And he’d fallen for it.

  All the seemingly small inconsistences that he’d brushed aside, now flooded his brain in scorching derision. How difficult it had been to discover anything about her, either online or in public records. The mysterious family member who’d left her a fortune.

  Her unexpected appearance in Romania, and how she’d just so happened to have packed a seductive dress and stash of condoms for their evening date. Because she’d teleported.

  “Do you know what I do to my enemies?” He glared at her, waiting for the familiar wave of disgust that always accompanied any thought he had of demons and their spawn. But the only disgust that flooded through him was for himself.

  “I know what I’ve read.” Her gaze never left his. “But I don’t know the truth.”

  “Your histories.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve read them, too. Who are you working for?”

  Guilt flashed across her face, gone in a second, but it seared through him like a branding iron. Was she Dagan’s creature? The possibility sickened him to his soul.

  “I didn’t know who you were, the night we met in my club.”

  Her club. The scent of demon he’d detected permeating the property. He’d been so convinced it was Dagan he hadn’t considered any other possibility. Except she hung out with demon spawn. She might have held countless demonic rites at the place and that was why he’d picked up on it.

  Or it could simply be her.

  Rage licked through his blood. He’d checked her aura. There was nothing to indicate she possessed demon blood. She read as human. The faint strands of immortal heritage that had glinted hadn’t triggered any alarms. Many humans possessed such traces. It didn’t make them any less mortal.

  “You shield your aura.” He snarled the accusation at her. Couldn’t help himself. Fuck, why didn’t he just finish this? She’d betrayed him. There was no need for a trial.

  Leave her or kill her. It wasn’t that hard a decision to make.

  “So do you,” she shot back. “If I’d known you were an archangel I never would have got involved.”

  She’d read his aura? It shouldn’t come as a shock, but it did. Wasn’t this why he’d learned to distort it, so no other race could detect his true heritage unless he willed it?

  Except it worked both ways. What fucking good was the ability to read auras, if the one time he’d needed the truth, it had failed?

  “You expect me to believe that?” Worse, he wanted to believe she’d been ignorant of who he was. That it hadn’t all been a lie. But it didn’t add up.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Demon spawn aren’t known for telling the truth.”

  She flinched, as though he’d struck her, and anger flashed in her eyes. Instead of fury at her nerve, reluctant admiration licked through his blood. She knew he could destroy her in a heartbeat, yet she stood up to him.

  “I’m demon blood. Don’t refer to me as spawn.”

  I
t’s what you are. The accusation remained locked in his throat, corroding him from the inside out. The evidence was before him, but he didn’t—couldn’t—accept it.

  She still fucking dazzled him.

  A strange, unnatural crackle filled the air, violet and white electricity sparking off the walls and floor. He tensed, his eyes narrowing, but she didn’t appear to be the source. And then, in an unnatural flash, Dagan materialized behind Isabella, the tip of a dagger pressed against her throat. Nate bit out a curse and instinctively pulled back the sword, so it was no longer aimed at her heart. Was she working for him? A swift glance at her terrified face reassured him she wasn’t.

  Unless she was acting. It was possible. He wanted to believe it but couldn’t.

  Why didn’t she teleport to safety, then?

  “Hey, Nate.” Dagan sounded as though they’d seen each other just the other day. He was wearing breastplate armor and a single vambrace on his right forearm. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Fuck you,” he growled. There was no satisfaction that he’d been right about Dagan being connected to the Watchers. Because this was the demon who had betrayed, not only him, but the entire archangelic race.

  For millennia he’d searched for Dagan, obsessed by the need to face him once again and avenge the wrongs of the past. And now, when the demon was in his sights, when they could end this once and for all, he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it because Isabella—a treacherous demon spawn—would be caught in the crossfire.

  Collateral damage. That’s all she’d be. But he couldn’t risk her life for that.

  For this. Something he’d wanted to finish for eleven thousand years.

  “Astrid always made the best weapons.”

  “Why did you steal it?”

  Dagan tilted his head. “Is that what she told you?”

  Nate gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t allow the demon to distract him. “Release Isabella. This has nothing to do with her. It’s between you and me.”

  “On one condition. Give me the sword.”

  Fuck. He should’ve seen that one coming. He would have, if he wasn’t so eaten up in trying to protect Isabella from harm. Even if she didn’t deserve it.