Other than the day of the Great Betrayal, Bane had never seen so many UnHallowed in one place. Eight of the fallen archangels had gathered in the underground dwelling he’d created to stay near the Cruor. Granted, he created the basement home to eventually welcome and lead them. Now, they were here to interrogate him. Bring it. “Who wants to start?”

“What is this place?” Razuel asked, though he probably only asked for the sake of the others. The former Archangel of Secrets was good at ferreting out information, whether the individual wanted to share or not.

“A farm. The place where the Cruor is buried,” Bane answered.

“Was buried,” Raz growled.

Bane bit back the denial burning his throat when he realized the signature energy of the portal was gone. He had a moment of guilt, then the image of Amaya’s bloody body wiped the emotion away. “The Spaun took it. I will get it back.”

“The Spaun did not take the Cruor,” Daghony said.

Bane whipped around and faced Daghony. “Explain. Who else was here?”

“Malphas,” Ioath snarled.

That couldn’t be possible. “What’s a Demoni Lord doing outside of Hell?” Bane asked no one in particular.

Zed stroked his beard. “That question comes later. The question to answer now, how long have you been here? Guarding the Cruor?” said around the blunt in his mouth.

“Without informing us of its presence,” Kush said at Bane’s back.

Bane studied his judges and all their righteous indignation. All the times he’d come to them, shared his intentions, why he felt the need to fight the Darklings, save the humans, not one of them wanted to know. They still didn’t. “One week. And I don’t answer to any of you.”

Rimmon pointed at Bane. “You, on your own, could not guard the Cruor, evident due to it being taken.”

Bane leveled a cool glare on Rimmon. “I did fine without any of your help.”

“Until Amaya was injured,” Daghony said.

Everyone’s attention—except for Kush, Chay, and Riél —shifted from Bane to Daghony. “Who’s Amaya?”

“A Halfling,” Bane answered.

Half of the room’s attention swung to Riél. “In the immortal words of Maury Povich, ‘I am not the father.’”

“Then who is?” Zed took a slow stroll around the room. The end of his blunt flared with an orange glow. Weed was supposed to relax Zed. That would not happen today. Anger pulsed from him in contagious waves. Soon, all the UnHallowed would riot, and instead of banding together, they would be at each other’s throats for centuries. It was Zedekiél’s way. No mercy for any infraction, regardless of how minor. The former Archangel of Mercy was incapable of showing leniency to anyone.

“Not one of us,” Bane said, drawing the attention away from Zed. “Amaya is half human, half archangel.”

“Bullshit.” The outburst came from Kushiél. He clutched his tri-blade. The weapon vibrated from his barely controlled rage. He couldn’t help it. As an archangel, he led humans on the path of atonement for their many sins. Now, he punished without compromise. It was his outlet and right now, by the flare of his skeletal wings, the glare in his eyes, and his audible breathing, Kush was jonesing.

A chorus of “Agree” circled the room and Bane didn’t give a damn. He needed to return to Amaya.

“How did you find the Cruor, Bane?” Daghony asked. “Did you stumble upon it?”

Bane was grateful for the change of topic. “No. Michael led me to this place.” The ground rumbled at the mention of the archangel. “He asked me to guard it.”

“Michael chose you instead of sending angels to guard it?” Razuel grunted and folded his arms across his chest.

Bane snorted. “They’re busy with a war.” The UnHallowed couldn’t be that oblivious. Wait. Yeah, they could. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about the war raging between the Darklings and the Celestial Army. You know about it because I came to each damn one of you and asked you to join me in fighting the Darklings. And one by one you all told me to fuck off.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing, fighting the Darklings? Why?” Rimmon demanded.

Bane folded his arms across his chest. “My reasons are my own.”

“You kept this information from us. Hid the Cruor here with Michael’s help. You will tell us why.” Kushiél stepped forward, his tri-blade rolling in his loose palm.

Bane called for his own weapons. Seconds later, the double-edged blades were clutched in his hands.

A wave of power knocked Kush a foot back and Bane to the opposite side of the room. “You trusted Michael more than you trusted us.” Dressed as a regular Joe in a black sweater and jeans, Sammiél emerged from the shadows. He didn’t step into the center of the room, seeking attention, yet that’s exactly what happened. UnHallowed or not, when the Archangel of Death entered the scene, everything else ceased.

“Yes,” Bane replied without hesitation. He strode up to Sammiél and didn’t waver under his intense onyx stare.

“You were correct to do so.” Sam strode to the tunnel. He kicked the rubble out of his way as he moved. “So, Malphas has the Cruor. His stench is unmistakable. He must be found. Killed. Nothing is more important.”

“Since when do you give a shit?” Kush’s skeletal wings flared aggressively.

Sammiél’s onyx gaze landed on Kush. “Since a Demoni Lord is breathing the same air as I.”

“We find him. Kill him. Then we go back to our own corners of the world.” Kush stared Sam down, the double entendre not lost on any of them. Do what you need to do, and go back to the shadows.

Daghony stepped between the two. “How do we do that when it’s obvious Malphas didn’t arrive yesterday? He’s been topside for a while.”

“Blending in,” Rimmon added.

“Like the five of you.” Razuel’s red-eyed glare landed on Bane, Chay, Kush, Daghony, and Rimmon with unveiled hostility. Like Sammiél, Razuel preferred his own kingdom in the shadows.

“You should be kissing our asses that we did blend in unlike you three.” Bane tossed a scathing glare at Zed, Razuel, and Sammiél. “Means we know how to track him down.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Grim faced, Zed rolled his shoulders, the sound of his vertebra snapping echoed.

“The Spaun. It had to belong to Malphas. I bled it.” Bane entered the tunnel. The sun was still high so going topside wasn’t an option. He made his way deeper into the tunnel and came to the area where he reached through to snatch Amaya to safety.

The scent of her blood—sunlight, Heaven, and a hint of fresh rain—filled the narrow passage and a new wave of anger seized him. She’s going to be all right. The human brain needs more time to heal than the body, even with angel DNA. He’d keep telling himself that because anything else wasn’t acceptable.

He found the oily substance that came from the Spaun splattered on a rock next to a burgundy patch of earth. A putrid stench from the bowels of Hell mixed with her angelic scent.

He touched the patch of earth first, couldn’t help it. He dug his fingers into the blood-soaked dirt, felt the connection to Amaya, and enjoyed the violence fueling him.

I will find the bastard and I will kill him. This I swear on your blood.

He wiped his hand on his pant leg and snatched up the oily rock. “This is how we’ll find him,” he said when he returned to the basement and passed it around. “We find the Spaun. Do not kill him.” He gave a pointed stare at Sam, Zed and Kush—Death, Mercy and Punishment—the three with the poorest impulse control. “We need him alive to give up his master.”

Zed smiled, a chilling sight, even with his full beard covering half of his features. “He doesn’t need his arms, legs—”

“Or much of his torso to speak.” Kush finished.

Rimmon sniffed the air. “Michael’s scent,” he snarled. “Is he the father?”

Zed sliced his head to the left once, responding before Bane had the chance. “Not possible. Michael would’ve been condemned to death. Gabriél would’ve carried out the sentence.”

“Who’s to say Gabriél hasn’t already done so?” Gadreel finally spoke from the other side of the room, far away from contact with any weapon. Black leather covered him from his neck down, including his hands. His head was the only thing visible because he’d removed his hood and mask.

“I say,” Sammiél spoke. “Six months ago he was alive in Maximum Effort.” Chay, Kush, and Daghony nodded.

“The night he took Gideon,” Bane added, leaving out how he’d seen Michael a week ago.

“Six months isn’t yesterday,” Gadreel grumbled and called the shadows to him. “And I don’t give a fuck who fathered her. I’ll help find the portal, then I’ll go back into the shadows. After that, do not contact me again.” Then he was gone.

Bane took the opening and ran with it. He turned to the remaining UnHallowed. “Focus on the Cruor.”

“So says the one who lost it.” Razuel moved to the center of the room. “Before I leave on a scavenger hunt, tell me why you chose not to protect the portal.”

The intrusion into Bane’s mind by the former Archangel of Secrets wasn’t subtle enough for him to miss it. Sledgehammer to the temple instead of a delicate scalpel. Razuel wanted Bane to know of his invasion. Bane filled his mind with shadows, though it may have been too late. “Probe me at your own peril.” He raised his weapons.

Razuel raised an eyebrow, his eyes full of knowledge. Bane spun away and faced the other UnHallowed. “Find the Cruor. That is our mission.” One by one, the UnHallowed vanished, leaving only Sammiél and Bane.

Death closed the distance between the two of them. His human façade—slicked back black hair, clear onyx eyes with the thinnest red rim—was in place, though he hadn’t shielded his blood orange wings. They were less corporeal than Daghony’s and Tahariél’s, though much more substantial than Kush’s skeletal, featherless, skinless set. Sam’s wings were almost gossamer in their appearance, his feathers ethereal wisps too fragile to touch.

Sam stepped well into Bane’s personal space, and looked down at him from his superior height. He took a deep inhale and locked his gaze on Bane. “As long as I’ve been an UnHallowed, I’ve spent twice as long by Michael’s side. I know the scent of his blood. The odor lingering in the air is not Michael’s. The others may have become distracted by too many questions, and the promise of violence. Not I. I know how to multitask. Who sired the female?”

Bane stared Death down until Sam gave him a toothy grin and a slight nod. Shadows swept in like a rising tide. “Keep your secrets…you won’t be able to hold onto any of them for much longer.”

Death and his fucking premonitions. Bane had never held any stock in them. Who needed a premonition when they were immortal? Yet that’s exactly what he felt creeping up the back of his neck. Not Sammiél, but the actual presence of death. Bane paused and studied the room for a Reaper. Though Sam no longer led the squadron of death collectors, they continued to perform their duty. Bane shook his head and snorted. A Reaper had no power over an UnHallowed. The faster he found the Cruor, the faster he could return to Amaya.

He stalked into the shadows, his steps slowing. What if the premonition of death wasn’t about me…but about her?