CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Squatting behind a stack of skids Zander stared up at the stars over Lake Ontario. He’d lost his motherfucking mind, his grip on his inner tethers all but shot. Taking inventory of his faculties hadn’t helped any.
Mind: fractured. Temper: raging. Control: gone.
He thought sobering up would help, but when the numb fog rolled out, he’d been left a violent, hollow shell of the man he had been. Seemed like the recently vacant space in his heart had been topped up by the worst possible landfill.
Violent regret.
He growled. The one thing preventing a full-on meltdown of epic proportion was the knowledge that Austin, in her own life, was safer than she would ever be in his.
Kyrian’s whistle signaled the all clear on the wharf and he got back with the program. Slipping his dagger into his right hand and brass knuckles onto his left, he and Brennus moved in and continued their grid.
“Something’s off,” he said. Even with his body off center, he could feel the convoluted vibration in the air.
“Aye, yer Spidey-senses tingling too?” Brennus narrowed his gaze and searched the highroads while Zander focused on the discarded debris cluttering the industrial graveyard between warehouses. “Rooftops are clear.”
“Same with the boardwalk,” Kyrian said, jogging back to meet them. “What’d I miss?”
“Not a goddamn thing,” Zander said. A loose newspaper flapped in the breeze as he sidestepped a half-dozen empty beer cans. “Whoever sent this tidbit of intel better not be yanking my chain about the Cherub. I’ll track the fucker down, rip his lungs out his asshole and call him a butterfly.”
“Alllrighty then.” Kyrian raised a brow. “But before you go full on Linda Blair, we need to finish our sweep.”
Brennus yanked the handle on the side door of the next building, although building overstated things. The wonky metal rectangle was number five in an endless line of rusty metal rectangles marking the Toronto Harbourfront.
Fuck. Something felt way wrong.
Kyrian felt it too. Zander could read it in his brother’s gait. “The tip said outside the buildings?” the Greek said.
Zander nodded, the powerlessness overwhelming. It grated on his last nerve, both alien and annoying as hell. “Let’s check around back.”
The three of them fell into a familiar rhythm, their boots hitting the concrete in a precision beat as they jogged the length of the structures into the night.
When they got to where they were going, they scanned the area. Nothing. His neck cracked as he tipped his head side to side. A dozen pops ricocheted in his head as his bones resettled. For fuck’s sake. Where the hell was the party?
“There.”
Zander followed Kyrian’s pointed finger to an overflowing dumpster down the way. Garbage heaped over the rim and he saw it . . . a pale hand draped over the edge of the metal bin. Heading over, he wished to hell this wasn’t what it looked like.
His gaze remained locked on that hand and as they neared the dumpster. The woman lay face down, discarded and buried like forgotten trash. He studied the scene as they approached. No movement, except for the flutter of . . . long chestnut hair.
Zander’s world circled the drain and he broke into a dead run. Fuck. It couldn’t be. He made it to the dumpster a moment after Kyrian climbed up. Voices. Shouting. He wasn’t tracking.
It couldn’t be Austin. She was safe. She had to be—
The right cross to his jaw landed like an anvil against his face. Brennus squeezed his face with iron fingers and pulled him in nose-to-nose. The soldier swung a brown wig like a pendulum beside their cheeks. “It’s not her, Z. It’s the Cherub. Not yer human. They’re fucking with ye.”
The words congealed in his sloppy head and he inhaled deep. The intake of oxygen did nothing to tame the quakes raking his body.
Kyrian eased the female’s corpse down to the ground and he took another look. It wasn’t Austin. The relief he felt was short lived. The female he’d been searching for, the angel taken from his club, was dead and by the way her puce-colored skin sagged over the bone, she’d been bled dry.
With a curse, he pulled out his phone and sent word. Missing Cherub’s body: recovered. This location.
Auriel would wage war on those responsible. There was no stopping it. As he scrolled back to his main screen he noticed a missed call from Danel—
A shuffling noise in the closest building had them on high alert. The hum of an electric door opener sounded. Zander dove for cover, just as the building hemorrhaged Dark Ones.
Brennus whistled through his teeth beside him. “Anybody order an invasion?”
Zander got his groove on and launched out into the mix. He’d been spoiling for a fight for days and these hopeless odds were just what he needed. Nothing cleansed the soul like a good wholesome slaughter. Dozens of Darkworld scum flooded the wharf, and he had to laugh. It had been centuries since he’d fought in a true war and never one where he could be killed.
Kinda got the adrenaline pumping.
A series of arrows whizzed past Zander’s ear. Hark was the group’s bowman and gifted with perfect trajectory. To prove Zander’s praise, three demons crumpled to the ground before him, the ichor smeared shaft and point of each arrow coming out through their backs.
Four more in black fatigues split rank and flanked Zander from all sides. One grabbed his arm while the other tried to take him to the ground. Screw that. He rammed his dagger through one, slit the throat of the second, and then nailed his hat-trick. Violence flowed through him with an ease that chilled him to the bone. Grabbing the wrist of the last attacker in their little quad-cluster, he twisted the guy into a choke hold. One satisfying crack later and the demon fell to the heap with the others, his head hanging limp.
Lightning cracked in the black velvet night. Zander fed on the power of the energy bolt and kept at it.
One of the strange red metal weapons fell beside his boot. He snatched it up and the blade sizzled against his flesh. Cursing, he flung the thing and shook his hand. The burn looked like acid had eaten his palm.
Heavy footsteps approached from in the shadows, pounding hard, coming fast. Switching his dagger to his other hand, Zander bounced on the balls of his feet, bracing for another wave. Closer. Closer. About to launch, Z realized the male who burst into the moonlight wasn’t the enemy.
“Danel, come to join the fun?”
The Persian was the color of fog.
“D? What’s doing?”
The warrior outed his phone, an image of Austin glowed bright and beautiful in the darkness. The caption leapt off the glossy screen. The Sumerian’s weakness: Austin Navarro.
And it begins.
Stryker stood on the edge of the rooftop, watching the chaos unfold on the vast wharf. The soldiers below cast deep shadows. The moon’s glow and the curling silver surface of Lake Ontario lent the only light to the gloriously violent scene.
“They understand to wait for all Nephilim reinforcements before exposing our numbers?”
Devious nodded. “The second team is concealed. They’ll hold position.”
Stryker rolled his shoulders, stretching and pulling at the anticipation building in his muscles. He raised the new Dweorg crossbow and stroked her smooth shaft. The eerie warmth of the bolts lying in wait amazed him, the metal a living, a seething entity. Lowering his head, he aligned his eye with the high-powered scope and inventoried the group below.
“Where is the Sumerian?”
A female chuckled behind him. “Scurrying amongst the dumpsters with the other rats.”
Stryker’s aim shifted and he cranked around on his spine.
Ahh, his offspring and her bitch-Queen mother materialized wearing, of all things, white battle leathers. Knives came out and so did a pair of matching smiles. He dropped his aim and motioned for Devious to lower his weapon as well.
“Come watch history in the making ladies? Bear witness to the first garrison of Watchers getting what they’ve long deserved. An end to their duty of death. Then, once we’ve proven it can be done, we’ll move from city to city until the Watcher’s of the Gray are no more.”
His child stepped forward, her stride sure and solid, her grin laced with an evil he admired. “Mother and I added a little extra torture for the mighty Sumerian—his human beloved being slaughtered. Poor bastard won’t know what hit him.”
Really? Was it the woman he’d been bound to the other night? He wondered again about the Sumerian’s reaction to the woman. There was something there, but love? “What do you know about such things, Emmalixa?”
“Thrash,” she growled, asserting her Hunter’s name. “I know a lot more than you give me credit for. I’ve been working as a human in their club for months. I know the ins and outs of their lives and their business.”
What? He glared at her mother. “You allow our child to associate with Watchers? What if they detected her deception?”
“She shielded herself, lover. She’s got her father’s charms.”
“Shielded? But they are assassins. Have you no idea the danger she—”
“I’m not her,” Emmalixa snapped. “I’m not your precious princess, Cassiane, living in a castle, twirling her hair. I’m a hunter, old man. I earned my name in battle and in life.”
Stryker raised his palm to slap the disrespect from her. Her block came up with a speed that stopped him short. She was his daughter yet so much more. Strong, driven, and by the fury in her dark citrine eyes—his eyes—she was dangerous.
Stepping to the edge of the roofline, his child peered over at the melee below. The numbers had multiplied, the baritone grunts and growls rising in the night air to meet them. A flare of pride ignited deep in Stryker’s chest as he surveyed the battle in progress.
Raising the bow once more, he screened the crowd through the night vision scope. “Five of the seven Toronto Watchers are below. Once the Egyptians get here—”
He raised his hand to order the second team forward and paused. A change in the atmosphere burned on the edge of his consciousness. He watched and waited. Three figures appeared from within a blinding shaft of descending light.
“Stryker?” Xamia raced to his side and searched the wharf. The three newcomers glided into the fray, each producing a flaming sword, each spreading a vast wingspan of shimmering silver, and each cutting swaths through his mighty army.
“By the Dark Prince’s fury,” his daughter gasped. “Those aren’t Nephilim. You’ve incurred the wrath of The Seven.”
The Seven? Impossible. But it wasn’t.
Fifty feet below, three of the seven mightiest warriors to ever walk the realms had joined the opposition. The archangels had descended and in that moment his easy triumph lost.
Xamia squeezed his arm. “Best you pull back your second squad and regroup.”
“No.” Three sets of eyes stared at him. All his efforts. All the men who trusted him to lead their families from starvation. He would not back down now. No. This wasn’t over. He would take down the Watchers.
Snapping into action he turned to his second in command. “Tell the second group to attack and keep the Watchers busy. Thrash went to all the trouble of arranging a special surprise for the Sumerian and his human. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
The hum in Zander’s head exploded. It pierced his skull and flooded his body. Austin—his Austin—was being targeted by the Darkworld. Another look at Danel’s phone and his control snapped entirely. His beast roared, its tether as effective as a paper leash on a raging bull. Mine.
There was no denying it. Austin was his love . . . his life.
He turned, smashing his fist into the face of a yellow-eyed Shedim. His opponent’s neck snapped and the guy fell against the dumpster. “I gotta go. Tell Michael—”
Red-hot agony tore through his cells, swirled in his chest and imploded inside him. His system shattered like a million shards of glass. He dropped to his knees. No.
Austin needed him. His men needed him. Hark was down and three fuckers were dragging Brennus toward the water.
The garage door on the next building hummed and vomited another horde of Dark Ones. He fought to stand, sure he was being cleaved in two. His legs gave way and he ass-planted back on the pavement.
Danel and Kyrian closed ranks, shielding him as another round of body tremors hit. Fury erupted. Being helpless put them at risk. He roared into the night. Anger, purer than anything he’d ever felt seeped and spread through him, ice surged and burned through his cells.
The first bone snaps ricocheted in his skull. He twisted, screaming as his spine . . . his shoulders and then his ribs shattered from within. Voices cried out. From a great distance, he heard an inhuman howl echo into the night. It tore from his own throat. His breath escaped in bursts of air.
Lady Divinity, please . . . I must save Austin.
He couldn’t focus. Dagger points punctured his eardrums. His skull pounded as his lungs caught fire. He torqued onto his stomach, his back on fire.
In the hurricane that consumed him, he focused on Austin: what she looked like dancing in his office, her voice as she rasped his name as he came inside her. He loved her so damned much. He claimed her.
And now the prophecy claimed him.
Someone clasped his hand. “Adelphos, we’re here, my brother. We’re all right here.”
Kyrian knelt on the pavement inches from his face, looking like hell. “Hang on, Z, Gabriel is coming. He’s—”
He couldn’t die now. “Austin—” he gasped. “Save Austin.”
His skin split and peeled back like an onion. His knees came up tight and he screamed again. Bones broke through his skin, blood streamed hot down his sides and pooled under his hip. The pain was cosmic. It sent his molecules splintering in every direction. It obliterated all thought, all sound.
And then . . . he blacked the fuck out.