Asiftheyhadnâtbeentryingtodojustthat.Icanalmosttastetheirfear,lacedwiththebravadotonotletapairofblack wings and a couple of shinyknives scare themoff Poor sods donât stand a chance, but theyâll realise it too late Just like always.
âCome on then,â I beckon with a sardonic smirk, readying my stance. My wings flex behind me, causing a few loose featherstodrifttotheground adarkcontrastagainstthecrackedconcrete âShowmewhatyouâvegotâ
This is what Iâmreduced to. Acelestial warrior, once revered, now slummingit inhumanalleys, dealingwithgarden varietycriminals.ItâsnotHeaven,butatleastitâsaction.AtleastIgettomakeadifferencehere,inmyownrebelliousway, fightingforthosewhocanâtfendoffthedarknessthemselves Afuckingrenegade.
Scar-Eyebrow snarls and comes atme, a rusted chainswingingina deadlyarc ButIâve danced this dance before my movementsarefluid,asymphonyoflethalgrace.Ileanbackjustenoughtoletthemetalwhipthroughtheairwheremyhead wasasplitsecondago
Theotherscirclelikehungrywolves,buttheyârepuppiesplayingatbeingpredators.Theireyesflickertomywings,black feathers slickand glisteningunder the harshglare ofthe alleyâs flickeringstreetlamp Icansmell their fear mixed withthe cityâsgrimeandrot.Itâsintoxicating.
As the remainingassholes scatter, helpingtheir fallenbrethrenescape, Icatchmybreathand leanagainstthe cool brick wall, lettingthe adrenaline settle inmyveins like a headycocktail. The taste ofvictoryâs sweetonmytongue, butthereâs a bitternessthatlingers,thekindthatcomesfrommemoriesbestleftburied.
âCastoutfor havinganopinion,âImutter tomyself âFor wantingabitmorethanharpstrummingandblindobedienceâ Thereâs a stinginthose words, the thornof betrayal that never quite worked its wayfree. Heavenâs meant to be all about forgiveness,love,andsecondchances Turnsouttheyâreabitpickyaboutwhogetsthem
Makingmywaytothe supernatural nightclub,Affinity,todance anddrinkmywoes away,the cityâs pulse thrums around me,a low andconstanthum,like the bloodbeatofsome vast,slumberingcreature Neonlights flicker atme as Istalkpast, their sicklyglow no matchfor the shroud of darkness that cloaks mycurrent corner ofthe world. The graffiti onthe walls seemstocomealiveinthedimlight,snarlingtagsandvibrantmuralstellingstoriesofliveslivedloudlyanddefiantly
Acar alarmbleats somewhere inthe distance, followed bythe muffled thud of a bass line froma passingvehicle, the nightâs soundtracknever skippinga beat. Above it all, the faintest whisper of voices carried onthe breeze speaks of lives continuing,oblivioustothefraythatjustunfoldedhere
I stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, the sensation of my muscles pulling taut, a stark reminder of my corporeal ties now Iâmbanished to earth, whichis botha blessingand a curse Feelinghumanvices pulse throughmybody withthesupernaturalstrengthofthedivineisaheadycombination,onethatmakesmehornyandthirsty.
Bassthumpsthroughmybodylikeasecondheartbeat,eachpulsesynchingwiththeflickerofstrobelightsthatcutthrough the smokyhaze. Iâminthe thickof it, amidst gyratingbodies and creatures of the night, all of us reduced to shadows and silhouettesundertheclubâsmoodyglow.Avodkatonicclutchedinonehand;Iletgowiththeother,myfingerscurlingaround theairasifitâstangibleasifIcouldcatchtheveryessenceofthisrecklessfreedom.Iswishmylonghairaroundmyshoulders, myleather-cladhipsswayingfervently
Itakeaswigofmydrink,relishingtheburninmythroatasitleavesatrailoffireinitswake Thesensationremindsmeof plummetingfromgrace, the heatofrebellionthatonce scorched myivorywings into these blackened feathers. Another sip, anothermemoryâbanishmentnevertastedsosweet
Itossmyheadback,longhaircascadingbehindmelikearavenâswingunfurling Thedancefloorisabattlefield,andIâm not one to shyawayfroma challenge. Witheverytwist and turn, I amdefiance incarnate, a celestial warrior cast out and revellinginherfall
Hispresenceislikeadropofinkinwater,darkandspreading,impossibletoignore Darkhair fallscarelesslyover his forehead,andthosesparklingblueeyeslockontominewiththeintensityofapredator.
HeâscloseenoughthatIcanseethethrillofthehuntinhisgaze,thatagelesshungerofavampirewhoâsseencenturiespass by like falling stars. He moves with the confidence of one who has tasted both life and death and found them equally intoxicating
âShowtime,âIsay,andthenIâmmoving,adanceofdeathchoreographedbyyearsofnecessity.Myarmsworkintandem, blades arcingthroughthe gloom, severinglimbs and spillingichor across the concrete. Thereâs a beautyinthe violence, a graceinthewaymybodyweavesbetweenstrikesandcounterswithlethalprecision
âDamn, angel,â Zane says, almost admiringly. I canhear the smirkinhis voice evenif I canât see it. âYouâre quite the sightâ
Witharoar,Zanevampsoutandjoinsthefray.Hemoveslikesomethingprimal,allbruteforceandbaredfangs.Hishands are weapons, crushing bones and tearing through flesh as if itâs wet paper. I canât deny thereâs something visceral about watchinghim,somethingundeniablyattractiveintherawpowerhewields
Icanfeelthevibrationofmypulseinmytemples,adrenalinefloodingmysystem,sharpeningeverysense.Mybladescroon witheachstrike theyknowtheirpurpose,andtheyfulfilitwithanalmostholyzeal âEverconsideredthecircus?âZanejests,breakinganeckwithatwistofhishands.âYouâdmakeakilleracrobat.â âThoughtaboutit,âIreply,duckingaswipethatwouldhavetakenmyheadoff.âButIheardthepayâsshit.â âCanâtbe worse thanthis gig,â he laughs, and the sound is so atodds withthe chaos around us thatitalmostmakes me smile.
Almost
Heâs not wrong. This gig pays nothing. I live hand to mouth, sometimes getting paid for doing shady investigating for humans,sometimesforthepolice,whichisnolessshady,buttheyjustwanttokeeptheirhandsclean âFocus, Zane,â Iwarn, feelingthe press ofour enemies startingto lessen, their numbers dwindlingunder our onslaught. âLetâsfinishthis.â
The feelingofdisplacementdescends like anold friend. There was a time whenIbelonged to the skies, whenthe stars were mycompass and the clouds mybed Banished for daringto question, for wantingmore thanblind obedience, I often wonder ifthe price for myrebellionwas too steep. Heavenâs loss, Earthâs gain theysay. Butdo theyknow the weightof wingsturnedtolead?
âRealist, huh?â I pushawayfromthe wall, blades readyinhand âWell, then, letâs see if realityincludes gettingsome answers.â
Zaneâs hand finds my hip, his touch firmand unyielding Itâs possessive, a silent claimthat sends a jolt of awareness throughme.
âZane,â Iwarn, butmybodybetrays myintent, leaninginto himas ifdrawnbysome primal magnetism His other hand movesdownmyback,tracingthecurveofmyassuntilgoosebumpsriseonmyflesh.
Hiscockpulsesinsidemypussy,andIclencharoundhim,elicitingagroanthatvibratesagainstthewalls.Witheachthrust, Iâmlostinthe sensation, the slickheatofour bodies meldingtogether Iâmincontrol, and Ilove it the wayhis eyes glaze overwithlust,thewayhisfangselongateslightlyinhisopen-mouthedpleasure.
âShh,â I silence him with a kiss, fierce and possessive. Even though itâs casual, all of this, the way he looks at me sometimes like Iâmthe sun, moon, and stars itâs too much. I wonât be anyoneâs everything. Not after fallingso far from grace
Reachingbetweenus, I circle myclit withpractised ease, chasingmyownrelease withanurgencythat has mywings flutteringagainstmyback Zanewatches,entrancedasIbringmyselfclosertotheedge
The damp air filteringout of the tinybathroominto myone-roomapartment clings to myskinas I slip into myleather jacket,thecoolmaterialastarkcontrasttothelingeringwarmthfromZaneâsbody.
âSo,â Isayas he leans againstthe doorframe withthatpredatorâs grace unique to his kind, âthis secretsociety whatâs theirendgame?â
ThatâswhatIâveheardthistimeofthenightcalled.Itâsnoteven1AM,andyetitfeelslikeweâvebeenoutfordays. The darkness seeps under your skinand whispers secrets, and Iâmalreadyitchingbeneathmyleather jacket, feelingthe weightoftheearlierrevelationsandZaneâssteadypresenceatmyside.
âThefirststepisintelâMyvoiceisaconspiratorialhushinthestillnessofthecitythatneverseemstorest âWeneedeyes andearseverywhere everyshadynookandcrannywherethesesocietycreepsmightslither.â âSounds like mykind ofreconnaissanceâ Zaneâs lips turnup inamusement âIhave a few debts to collect, people who owememorethanblood.â
âPerfect.âThewordslicesthroughthechillair,decisive.âTurnthosedebtsintoassets.Butremember,weâreghosts they canâtknowweârecomingforthem.Notyet.â
Inside,thepatronsareasmorgasbordofthesupernatural wraiths,ghouls,andcreatureswhosenamesIâveyettolearn,all stewing in their own filth and vice. They look up briefly as we enter, then dismiss us. Two more lost souls in a sea of corruptionarenâtworththeirattention
âShit,â Imutter, as four hulkingfigures detachthemselves fromthe darkness ofanalleywayahead. Theyâre dressed like undertakersonabender,allblacksuitsandsinistersmiles
Ifeel the rushofcombatand lose myself One comes atme, batonraised high, butheâs slow, so damnslow Myblade meetshisthroat,andhegurgles,asoundlostbeneaththedinofthecityâsnightlife.
Thechillairseepsintomybonesaswezigzagthroughthenight.Flyingpastdumpstersandleapingoverchain-linkfences withanurgencythat would give parkour enthusiasts a runfor their money, Zane is a blur beside me, his vampiric speed a godsendattimeslikethesewhenheneedstokeepup.
âHomesweethome,âhesays,butthereâsnowarmthinhisvoice Itâsjustanotherbattleground âCosy.â I size up our refuge. The walls are lined with ancient stone, cool and unwelcoming. It strikes me then the enormityofwhatweâredoing FightingasecretsocietythatâsbeenaroundlongerthaneitherofushashadourfeetonEarthâs soil.Yet,herewestand,tworebelswithoutacause,exceptmaybesurvival.
âCharm,blades,whatever worksâ Idropthe towel andsurveythe lair Thereâs a table ladenwithvarious weapons that wouldmakeanyarmouryjealous.âSo,thisiswhereyouâvebeenhoardingthegoodstuff.â
âGood.â I nod, resolute, the weight of our shared purpose solidifyingbetweenus. We might have started this dance as nothingmorethanbedpartners,butfate orsomethingequallytwisted hasmadeusalliesinawarbiggerthanourcombined lifetimes.Andbythelooksofit,itâsonlyjustbegun.
âEnforcers donât just sniff around without good reason,â I mutter, my voice a low growl. âWeâve rattled some cages, havenâtwe?â
âLooks like it,â Rogue agrees, her blue eyes scanningthe table full of everyweaponknownto kill a supernatural, her included.AnangelImighthavetroublewith,butonewhosecelestialdivinityhasbeencompromised,yeah.Iâvegotitcovered. Sheâsnottheonlyfallentowalkthesegrimystreets,andnotallofthemareasmorallyoffwhiteassheis Alwaysalert,sheâs coiledtensionandgrace,adangerousbeautywithwingsthatwhisperofmysteriesIâmitchingtounravel.
Stiflingmygroanas mycockgoes hard, Irally. This nightstarted offso great, and now itâs become somethingdarkand crazed.Iâmnotevensurewhatthefuckournextmoveis.
âTime tohitthe streets,then.We neednames,places anythinglinkedtothis society,â Isuggest,rollingmyshoulders in anticipation
âYour fall fromHeaven... Whatwas itabout? Your purpose here?â Iprod, tryingto pierce the veil she wraps so tightly aroundherself,knowingthetimingisepicallybad,butsometimesthecuriositygetstoomuchformetokeepmytrapshut Not thatIâmanopenbook.SheknowsnothingaboutmyturningorexactlyhowlongIâvebeenwalkingtheearthastheundead.But thisisatwo-waystreet Shespills,andsowillI
âCuriositykilled the cat, Zane.â She sidesteps myquestionwithpractised ease, her smirkwideningas Ifullyexpected. âButfortherecord,Iâmnotyourtypicalfallenangelnarrative.Ihadideas.Ambitions.Theydidnâtlikethatupstairs.â
A rat scuttles across our path, squealing as it disappears into a maze of refuse The air reeks of urine and something metallic notblood,justthetangofrusterodingfromthefireescapeaboveus.
Rogue nods toward anunlitdoorway, her voice lackinganyofthe levitywe shared moments ago âIcanfeel them The societyisclose.â
âFeel them?â I echo, scanning the darkened threshold, my own abilities searching for the telltale signs of supernatural surveillance.
âAnangel always knows whensheâs beingwatched,â she says,andthereâs a chill toher words thatcuts deeper thanthe nightair
SpottingthebarwhereIâmtoldtheinformantholesup,Ipushopenthedoor,anditresistswithagroan,asifwarningus against what lies within. The hinge squeals a feral cat protesting the nightâs invasion. Rogue is at my side, her presence electric,eyesscanningtheroominawaythatwouldmakethemosthardenedcriminalsshiver.
Everythingabouthimscreamsdanger,fromthecasualleanofhistallframeagainstthebartothecruelglintinhiseyes âLetâs hope he prefers chit-chatover a brawl,â she adds, butthereâs a steel inher tone thattells me sheâs prepared for either
âNo one is listening,â Ipoint to the other patrons, two ofwhomare so drunk, theyâre alreadyslidingdowntheir booth seats,eyesclosed,andtherestofthemchatteringawayoverthethumpofthejukeboxinthecorner.
âSincewhendoyougetcoldfeet?âRogueâsvoiceissteady,butIseethetensioninthesetofhershoulders âSince demons started requestingmidnightrendezvous ingraveyards whenwe know the bigbad is intown.â Iscanthe murkycornerswepass,everysenseonhighalert
âKeep your fangs sharp,â she advises witha smirkthatdoesnâtquite reachher eyes. âWe need whatever this Ethanshit knows Andbytheway âSheturnstomewithanirritatedglare âYoudidnâtthinktogivemeaheadsup?Youknowdemons givemetheick.â
AlthoughpartofmegetswhyEthanwanted to head outoftownfor this discussion. Ifhe knows stuffthatcanhelp us take downthis society, thenhe isnâtgoingto want them toknowthat
Weareaboutanhourawayfromdawn.Icanfeelthepullonmyveinsasweapproachthegraveyardâswrought-irongates, whichgroaninprotestas we slip through. The moonhangs low, castinganeerie glow over the tombstones thatjutfromthe earthlikebrokenteeth Achillskittersdownmyspine,anditâsnotfromthenightair SpottingEthanlurkingintheshadows,InodatRogue.âWatchyour âMywarningcutsshortasafigurelungesfromthe shadows,ablurofmalevolenceaimedstraightforEthanâsback âFuckâssake!âIcurse,butRogueisalreadyinmotion.
Withpreternatural speed, she intercepts the assassin a spindlycreature withtoo manyjoints and eyes that gleamwith malice.Herbladessingtheirdeadlytune,twinarcsofblackenedsilverthatflashinthemoonlight.Thesoundofmetalpiercing fleshechoes,agruesomecountermelodytothehushedwhispersofthewind.
âNice try,â Rogue taunts, her movements lethal as she ducks and weaves The creature hisses, a sound torn from a nightmare, but Rogue is relentless. With a swift, brutal thrust, she ends the threat, her angelic weapon buried deep in the assassinâschest
Ethanâs mouthhangs open, a rare momentofspeechlessness for the demon Alow whistle slips fromhimas he nods at Rogue,hisglowingeyeswidewithsomethinglikerespect ormaybeitâsjustthefactheâsstillbreathing.
âSave it, Green Eyes Just because I didnât let you become wormfood doesnât mean weâre palsâ She steps over the remainsofthewould-beassassin,hergazeneverleavinghim.âNowtalk.Thesociety whatâstheirendgame?â Ethanscratcheshishead,feigningdeepthought.âArenâtyoumoreinterestedinwhytheywantmesilenced?â
âAre youalways this infuriating?â Icutin, feelingthe stingofirritationathis evasiveness Itâs like watchingtwo chess mastersstrategizing,eachmovelacedwithdoublemeanings.
Theclockmocksmewithitsrelentlessticking,areminderthatat8AM,theworldofmortalsiswakingupwhilecreatures like me haunt the shadows. My unfurled wings itch with restlessness as I roammy sparsely furnished apartment, the low sunlightcastinggoldenlinesacrossthedarkhardwoodfloor.
A soft knock fractures the silence, and I reach for my blades before I remember Iâm not in Heaven anymore here, sometimes a knockis justa knock Iopenthe door to find Ethan, the asshole demon, onmydoorstep, his prettygreeneyes glintinglikeemeraldsinthedarkenedhallway.HisexpressionisoneIcanâtquitedecipher.
âTheyare,butalltheseenforcersyouhavekilledormaimedtonightare not human.Obviously.â âObviously,â Idrawl âSo theyâre usingsupes to do the dirtyworkwhile theyconcentrate ongettingthe humans to bow down.Realpiecesofwork,yourmates,arenâtthey?â
Ethan leans forward, elbows on his knees âThe society isnât just a club of human elites playing around They have a hierarchy.Nooneknowswhoisatthetop,buttheunderlings...theyhaveonemission.TogetEarthundertheircontrol.â
âOfcourse,thepuppetmasterwouldwantthestrings,âImusealoud. âExactly. And theyâve gotways ofkeepingthe humans incheck. Butthe supes theyâre usingto do their dirtywork, they haveenslavementspells,collarsfortheweres,bloodbindingsforvampires.Fordemons,theyhaverelics.ArtefactsfromHell itselfthatcancompelobedience orworseâ
âLetâsnotkidourselves,âEthanbegins,breakingthesilencewithhisgravellytone âIftheycatchus,itâsgameover They donâtdoslap-on-the-wristpunishments;weâretalkingeternaltorment,Rogue.â
He nods, a grimacceptance paintinghis features. âTheyâll flayyoufromthose prettywings to your toes. And me they havewaysofmakingademonwishforoblivionâ
The warehouse where Iexpectto find the demonlooms ahead, a skeletal huskamongindustrial decay Graffiti screams silentbattlesacrossitswalls,andshatteredwindowsstareoutlikeholloweyes.Itâstheperfectplaceforcreaturesofthenight tohonetheirlethalcrafts.
Islipinsidesilently.Thespaceisvast,darknessclingingtoeverycornerlikeasecondskin.Iunsheathemyblades,their edges gleaming with a light that seems sacrilegious here. My movements are fluid, a deadly ballet set to the silence of abandonment
âShow-off,â Zaneâs voice echoes fromthe shadows as he steps into view. He moves with an elegance that belies his viciousness,thethrillofthehuntaliveinhisgaze.
âMe or the bird?â Iask, feintingleftbefore lungingforward, blades slicingthroughthe air where his throatwould have beenhadhenotdancedaway,laughing.
âHow about we focus on not getting killed?â Ethanâs voice booms from the entrance, shattering the playful tension. Shadowsclingtohim,emphasisingthehardlinesofhisjawandthedangerousglintinhiseyes theairshifts,chargedwiththe powerthatrollsoffhiminwaves.
Idive into a routine ofstrikes and evasions, Zane joiningme, our movements a symphonyofcontrolled violence Ethan watches,hispresenceasilentchallenge,pushingmetosharpenmyinstinctstobecometheweaponIneedtobe.Toseethefight throughhiseyes,whichIwonâtlie,scarestheshitoutofme.ImaynotbeHeavenâsdarlinganymore,butIsureasshitamnot Hellâsbitcheither.Onceagain,ImarvelatthefinelineIwalkeverydayandwonderwhatthefuckIâmdoing.
âExactly. And theyâre planning something big something thatâll tighten their grip even further.â He stops, facing me directly,thewarehousedarkeningaroundus
Theclatterofmybladesechoesoffthestarkwallsofthewarehouse,ametallicsymphonytomybubblingrage âTheythink theyâre gods, playingwithlives like theyâre pawns ona chessboard!â The thrust and parryof myweapons punctuate each word
âPatience?â I snort, spinning around to face him. âHow many will suffer while we wait? How long before their grip tightens,andweâreleftgaspingforair?â
âFine line between recklessness and courage, isnât it?â His smirk is infuriating, but beneath it, I catch a glimpse of somethingelse,asharedrevulsionatthesocietyâsdeeds.
âSometimes lines are meant to be crossed,â I growl, slashing the air with renewed vigour. The shadows cling to me, whisperingsecretsofthenightasifthey,too,despisethehiddentyrannyweface.
LiamBaker strides further into the warehouse, and the air seems to shift around his six-five frame, like reality itself is makingroomfor him. Heâs gotthatwalk firm, unshakable, the kind ofstride thatscreams âcopâ, evenoutofuniform. His blondehairistousledasifheâsrunhishandsthroughitonetoomanytimesinfrustration,andthosegreeneyesscantheroom withavigilancethattellsyouheâsseenmorethanhisshareofdarkness.
