“Fool. That only works if an angel hasn’t yet entered Sheoul.”
“My bad. I’m rusty on fallen angel rules. Don’t suppose they’ve got an Idiot’s Guide for that.” Wraith studied his nails. “But one thing I know? If you die, you’re gone for good. Poof. No redemption, no reincarnation, no nothing. Buh-bye.”
He launched a morning star so fast Byzamoth didn’t have a chance to block it. The star caught him in the shoulder, went right through and buried itself in a pillar.
Byzamoth yelped in pain, but he recovered in an instant. “Did you think it would be so easy?” He came at Wraith, feet not touching the ground.
Reaver met him head on, and they crashed together like two bulls. Light streaked with black voids swirled around them, encasing them in a supernatural funnel cloud as they grappled. Wraith hurled one of his daggers into the mix, aimed at the back of Byzamoth’s neck, but the weapon was caught up in the tornado and flung to the far side of the building.
Blood flew from the two angels, staining the vortex a gruesome red. The whirlwind imploded. Reaver flew through the air, coming down in a heap that slid across the floor, leaving a crimson trail.
Wraith attacked Byzamoth, ripping powerful punches into the male’s face. A knee to the groin earned a satisfying roar of pain. A bolt of energy slammed into Wraith’s chest, knocking him into the railing surrounding the Foundation Stone.
Wet tearing sounds filled the mosque as Byzamoth shifted into his grotesque gargoyle form. His one wing rose up high over his head, the clawed tip coming down to clamp on Wraith’s head.
Pain screamed through Wraith as sharp, serrated claws dug into his skull. Blood streamed down his face, and rage streamed through his veins. Snarling, he dropped to his knees and lunged sideways, breaking Byzamoth’s hold. He rolled, avoiding what would have been a bone-breaking stomp to the hip.
Wraith pivoted on his hand, sweeping his legs out for his own devastating kick. He caught the male in the knee, and though Byzamoth grunted, he didn’t go down. Scrambling to his feet, Wraith dashed blood out of his eyes. In the distance, the air sang with the clank of weapons, the thud of fists striking flesh, and the screams of demons and humans in mortal pain.
“It’s beautiful music, is it not?” Byzamoth edged sideways, keeping his body between the Foundation Stone and Wraith. Lightning flashed and thunder rocked the ground. Outside the dome, an evil storm spun up black twisters and blood-red rain. Through a single hole in the Heavens came a golden stream of light, but in a heartbeat, the roiling clouds extinguished it.
Byzamoth opened his fist to reveal Serena’s necklace and a vial of blood. Wraith’s blood. “The sun has cast its first and last rays. It’s time. Reconsider your fight, incubus. Stand with me, and you will reap unimaginable rewards.”
“As tempting as it sounds to be your bitch,” Wraith drawled, “I’m going to have to turn down that offer.”
He launched himself at the angel. Byzamoth’s wing caught him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance, but somehow, he stayed upright. They fought like fiends, with Wraith coming out on top every time they broke apart.
But Wraith was bleeding badly, one leg wasn’t working right, and he was sucking air with a lot more effort than he’d like.
Byzamoth looked as if he’d gone for a pleasant jog. “I can’t be killed, filthy demon.”
“You’re pretty judgmental with the demon thing,” Wraith said through panting breaths. “Given that you are a demon.”
Evil laughter bounced off the walls of a place so holy that they seemed to writhe under the sound. “I’m better than demon scum.”
“Holier than thou is kinda funny coming from a fallen angel.”
“I tire of your infantile humor.” Byzamoth popped open the vial of blood and whirled toward the Foundation Stone.
“No!” Wraith struck Byzamoth in the back, propelling him into a support column, but blood splashed from the vial and fell in thin streaks across the Foundation Stone.
Outside, the storm hushed. Inside, it had just begun.
The blood on the stone bubbled, releasing black steam into the air. Byzamoth struggled toward it, kicking at Wraith, who held onto his ankle. The fallen angel held the necklace stretched before him, trying to reach the blood.
“Damn you!” Byzamoth slammed his fist down on Wraith’s skull like a hammer on a nail. Wraith crumpled to the ground, his legs not functioning. Byzamoth moved to the stone.
“Wraith…” Reaver’s hand closed on his ankle. The angel had somehow crawled from where he’d fallen, his body a broken mess. “Drain… me.”
Wraith brushed blood out of his eyes. Holy hell. If Reaver died like this, his soul would suffer eternal torment. “Let me try—”
“There’s no time!” Reaver rasped. “You must slash Byzamoth’s throat… and then fill the wound with your own blood after you drink mine. Hurry.”
Byzamoth was holding the necklace in the steam rising up from the blood on the stone, and the building had begun to rock. Reaver had exposed his throat. There was nothing to say. Nothing at all.
Wraith sank his fangs into the angel’s jugular. The blood hit his tongue like an electric shock and began pouring down his throat.
“No!” Byzamoth flashed to Reaver, grabbed the other angel by the arm, and threw him like a Frisbee through the doorway. “I want him dragged to the depths of Sheoul!” he screamed, and from nowhere, a horde of imps swallowed up Reaver and dragged him away.
Snarling, he turned on Wraith, crunching a foot into Wraith’s chest. Wraith launched into the air and hit the far wall with a crack of ribs.
His vision swam. Byzamoth darted back to the stone. Hand shaking, Wraith fished in his weapons harness for something to throw—anything. Outside, the sounds of battle became a screaming roar, metal on metal and metal on flesh growing closer. And then Kynan was there by Wraith’s side.
“Need Reaver,” Wraith gasped. “His blood.”
“Take mine.”
Wraith shook his head, trying to make sense of what Ky had just said. “I don’t need to feed.”
“I know. You need to drain an angel. Angel blood runs through my veins. It won’t be the same, but we’re losing, Wraith. Either way, I’ll die.”
“No.” Wraith grasped another throwing star and tugged it free of its housing. “I’m not done—”
“Wraith!” Ky’s voice was hushed but urgent as he grabbed Wraith’s shoulders and shook him. “Damn you, vampire. If you want to see Serena again, you have to do this.”
Byzamoth looked over at them, but he didn’t view Kynan, a simple human, as a threat.
“Feeding won’t help you, idiot.” Byzamoth turned back to the Foundation Stone, which was becoming lost in a giant, spinning black hole that extended upward to the cupola. It was growing, expanding, swallowing the ceiling.
Kynan tilted his head. “Do it.” He swallowed, locked gazes with Wraith. “Tell Gem… never mind.”
“Fuck,” Wraith whispered.
“Do it!”
Closing his eyes, Wraith latched onto Kynan’s throat. The human stiffened, but after a moment he sagged so Wraith had to catch him.
He drank until Kynan’s heart sped up to compensate for blood loss, and then he pulled harder as the human’s veins collapsed, until his heart stuttered. Oh, shit, he was doing it… he was killing his friend.
His friend.
He’d never had one before, and the one he had, he was destroying.
Kynan stopped breathing.
Power ripped through Wraith, power and pain that felt as if his muscles were separating from the bones. He lowered Kynan gently to the ground and let the rage of what he’d done fuel him. Rage that Byzamoth was the cause of all of this.
The demon would pay with his life.
Wraith launched himself at Byzamoth with a vengeance. They knotted together, a vicious swirl of hand-to-hand, a form of combat at which Wraith excelled. He would not lose. He could not lose. Kynan’s death would not be in vain.
Byzamoth’s wing sideswiped Wraith and knocked him to his knees. The fallen angel kneeled beside him and wrapped his clawlike hand around Wraith’s throat.
“I scarcely have time for this.” Byzamoth glanced at the horizon, where the clouds pushed against the sun’s light.
Wraith opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even breath.
“I know who you are. A demon born to a vampire.” He licked the gash he’d made in Wraith’s cheek. “I found your dam. She’s in Sheoul-gra.”
-Sheoul-gra. The place where dead demons went until their souls could be reborn. But according to many, deceased evil humans, vampires, weres, and shapeshifters didn’t go there, because they couldn’t be reborn.
“You’re wondering why she’s there instead of suffering eternally in Sheoul?” Byzamoth dug his finger in the wound, and Wraith grit his teeth against the pain. “She’s serving there. Serving the demons who are waiting to be reborn. The things they make her do…”
Wraith could imagine. Didn’t need to imagine, actually.
“She had a message for you, her darling boy.” Byzamoth punched his hand into Wraith’s gut, and agony accompanied a wet, hideous rip. “She can’t wait to see you. And she’ll make what she did to you as a child seem like, well, child’s play.”
A shudder ran through Wraith, no matter how hard he tried to contain it. Even after all these years she could prey on his fears.
No. She was not going to win, and he was not going to be seeing her anytime soon. Because his mother no longer had control of his fears. Not when his greatest fear was losing Serena. He had to get to her. But Byzamoth’s hand was deep inside his body, tunneling its way up to his heart.
“Now, I send you to see your mother.”
Wraith dug into his pocket for a weapon. His fingers, slippery with blood, found a blade, but he couldn’t grasp it… but wait… he closed his fist around the wooden top. Byzamoth’s fingers found his heart.