Erelah struggled against the hands that held her.
She couldn’t see much—she was enveloped in the bodies and wings of her shadow angeling captors—but she knew they had traveled. The only question was where… and what did they intend for her?
The slash in her wing screamed in protest as she thrashed against their hold, but then suddenly, she was released and falling. The black floor rushed up at her, and she landed hard on her side, but thankfully on her uninjured wing. She scrambled to get her feet under her, preparing to leap into the air and flee, but she had barely moved before something cracked the air then snaked around her, wrapping tight. She fought it, staggering to her feet—she was tethered to something—but a thick, black rope had already wound several times around her body, trapping her arms to her sides. She tried twisting to open an interdimensional portal, but the rope cut off her magic, like the golden bindings the fae had used to capture her. Her wings were still free, and though one was wounded, she tried lifting into the air, only to be yanked back down.
The rope was held by someone… she finally stopped thrashing and looked to the source.
“You,” she hissed. It was the same shadow angeling who had attacked her in that alley in Seattle. Short brown hair. Bright blue eyes. Young-looking, but that only meant he was still in his first century. He had markings like Tajael on his chest, what she could see of them. Unlike the other angelings, hovering in the air above her and wearing simple black togas, this one was dressed for combat—black leather boots and gauntlets ribbed with metal, a short hooded jacket of similar black leather strapped tight across the front, and dark pants slung low on his hips. His midsection alone was bare, showing the inky tattoos of his Regiment.
“You’ll wish I had killed you in that alley,” he said coolly, his expression as inscrutable as an angel’s.
Then a true angel rose from below the platform behind him. He was immense, even larger than the manifestation her father wore. “But then we’d be robbed of today’s entertainment, Micah,” the angel said as he slowly drifted down to stand next to the angeling.
His angel voice boomed around the cavern. It must be vast—Erelah heard three distinct echoes. Far above her and far below there were black spikes glittering, as if diamond swords guarded the ceiling and floor. The platform they stood on was separate, a sheet of midnight glass, and small compared to the vast emptiness of the space.
“What do you want with me?” Erelah demanded, testing the bonds wrapped around her once again. If she could only break free of their magic, she could twist out of this infernal place.
“It’s no use to struggle,” Micah said, still holding one end of her tether. “I conjured the bonds, and I’m the only one who can set you free.” In his other hand, he held up her shadow angel blade, which she’d somehow lost in her capture, and her flipped it between a standard and reverse grip. “Father,” he said to the angel, “what do you wish for this? It’s been blessed.”
Fury twisted the angel’s face. “Yes, I can taste Razael on it. Destroy it.”
Micah flipped it again to forward grip and pointed it at Erelah. “Perhaps we can use Razael’s own blade to destroy his daughter?”
The angel rumbled a sound that rolled like thunder through the cavern. Erelah couldn’t decide if it was laughter or an endless, undulating growl. His angelings quivered with it, rising and falling and soaring in a feathered tempest above them.
“A delicious idea,” the angel said, striding toward her. His eyes were black as midnight, but his hair was electric white and long. Micah the angeling had called him father, but there was no resemblance between them. Of course, there wouldn’t be. Just like her, the angeling would look like the hapless human this angel of darkness had seduced.
Or ravished.
His dark eyes glinted in the cavern’s light, which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. His hint of smile was pure malevolence. “And such a delightful irony to see the daughter of Razael gone to shadow.” He licked his lips.
Erelah snarled at him. She was not afraid to die, and she wouldn’t give this dark angel the pleasure of her fear. “I can taste the evil on you. It is ancient and bitter.”
The angel chuckled. His gaze oozed evil over her body—she could feel it like a chilling slime—traveling from her bare feet, across her rope-wrapped midsection, and up to her face. He raised his hand and made a small motion with two fingers. She lifted into the air until she was face-to-face with him.
Erelah struggled and kicked, but the bounds that held her prevented her from countering his magic. Not that it would be any use. His power was vastly greater than hers.
He grinned as he watched her struggle, a look that shrank Erelah’s heart. She could see his evil intent—and that he would enjoy her suffering. “I see your Sin, Erelah, daughter of Razael. You fell from Lust, and yet you’re still chaste. It is a perfect temptation, don’t you think, Micah?”
“Yes, Elyon,” came the response at the end of her tether.
It struck her as strange that the angel—his name was apparently Elyon—would consult with a mere angeling about the manner of her torture. “I would find a way to die before my vow is broken by the likes of you,” Erelah spat in his face.
“You would try,” Elyon said with a sickening smile. “And you would fail.” He glanced at the stoic-faced angeling holding her tether. “Would you like to break her first, Micah?”
The angeling’s expression remained inscrutable. “It is your vengeance, father.”
“True enough.” Elyon turned back to Erelah. She was still levitated by his magic, but she managed to lean back when he reached for her face. Still, he touched her, and the slither of it flushed a deathly cold through her… but then it was quickly followed by a rush of heat.
This was a heat she had felt before, and Erelah gasped at the force of it. It was as if every sense of hers was suddenly magnified a hundred fold, and the mere slide of the angel’s fingers along her face was rushing her with a pleasure greater than she’d ever felt, even when wildly kissing Leksander and tearing off his clothes. This was a pleasure that would kill her. Short her out. Consume her in fire.
Elyon leaned close, his dark eyes blazing. “Lust is my strength, little angeling, not a weakness. I’ll have you breaking your vow and thanking me for it.”
“No,” Erelah grunted through gritted teeth. She fought the surge of pleasure—her body was betraying her, but she would resist him with her mind. She panted through her teeth, wincing as the angel caressed her cheek then slid his hand down to her neck.
“Perhaps we could turn her,” a voice spoke up. It was the angeling, Micah, again.
The angel drew back and glanced at him. “And what then? The fae will still want her.”
The fae? Erelah shook the haze of lust from her mind, which was possible only because Elyon was no longer touching her. Was he in league with the summer queen? But Leksander had claimed she let them go. Perhaps Erelah would be safer in the queen’s hands—a strange thought that kept her quiet. Maybe that was her path to freedom.
“They’ll only kill her,” Micah said. “And she would already be dead if I hadn’t failed in the alley. Let me finish the task.”
Erelah squinted at him. He was so keen to kill her, still brandishing her blade, but there was a wariness in his eyes, a hunch to his shoulders… and the taste of evil that blared from his father, the angel Elyon, was not so heavy on his angeling. She couldn’t shake the sense Micah was trying to help her, in a bizarre way. A quick death by blade would be better than her vow broken by an assault by an angel. The horror of that was still shuddering through her.
Better still would be escape, but what hope had she for that?
She lifted her chin. “I’d rather die by an angel’s blade than at the hands of the fae.” It was a reasonable thing to say… and she hoped that Elyon, in his perversity, would send her to the fae to spite her.
Instead, he just leered at her. “You’ll get there soon enough—”
He was cut off by a blast of angelsong coming from far away. Elyon’s gaze jerked to something behind her. Erelah was still held by his magic mid-air, but she could twist to see what was happening—and she could hardly believe her eyes. The distant wall of the cave was lit with a raging ball of fire. Blue fire. Dragonfire.
Oh no. “Leksander,” she whispered.
“What?” Elyon’s hand grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her toward him. “This is your dragon prince?” His anger boomed the air, his voice verging on angelsong. He shoved her away, releasing her physically and from his magic. She fell hard to the floor, and with her arms bound to her sides, she smacked her head on the glittering black glass.
It stunned her, but through a strong buzzing in her ears, she heard Elyon boom out, “Bring me his head!” The angel lifted from the platform in a blast of fury.
A tug on the magical ropes that bound her helped Erelah rise to her feet. Micah was scowling, the tether in one hand, her blade in the other. She should charge him—he wouldn’t expect it—but as she staggered up to standing, a booming overpressure nearly knocked her back down again.
She squinted up.
Her father floated high above with Tajael by his side! Surrounding them were a legion of black-winged angelings. Their warrior cries all went up at once, deafening her and making her cringe. Her father surged forth, but he didn’t get far before Elyon roared back, crashing into him. The two angels spun as they grappled, the magical wind of their powers buffeting the swarm of angelings around them, all of which were immediately attacking their closest foe.
Tajael dropped like a stone out of the sky, heading straight for her. He slashed two dark angelings on the way, their wailings echoing even above the melee.
A yank on the tether sent Erelah sprawling on the floor. Micah arrived just before Tajael, grabbing hold of her bindings and lifting her off the floor. He held her as a shield in front of him, with Erelah’s blade high, threatening Tajael, but not her.
“Your angel blade is useless,” Micah shouted to Tajael from behind her. “I’m the only one who can free her.”
“I’ll take my chances on that,” Tajael said, stalking toward them.
Micah pulled her close and whispered in her ear from behind, “He will kill me if I release you.”
Erelah twisted to see his face alive with fear. “If you release my bindings, Tajael will not—”
“Not your friend of the light,” Micah hissed. Then he flicked his gaze up above where her father and his were buffeting the air and the melee of angelings with their magic.
Erelah’s eyes went wide. “He is your father—”
“That matters not,” Micah growled in her ear. “All fathers are not like yours, angeling of the light.”
“I’m not…” But she stopped. There was no time to quarrel, and besides, Tajael was about to run his blade through Micah first and sort things later. “Tajael!” she shouted as he approached, stopping him in his tracks.
He gave her a puzzled look, then he glanced around. Elyon’s angelings were trying to dive for them, to come to Micah’s assistance, but her father’s angelings were intercepting them and holding them off. Tajael looked back to her. “I will get you free—”
“Do not tarnish your wings with this piece of shadow trash!” Erelah shouted for all to hear, as much as they could above the whipping wind. Tajael frowned. He was only a few feet away. She dropped her voice. “A flesh wound only, Taj. And quickly. Micah will cut the bonds as you fight over me.”
Tajael’s frown grew darker, but Micah gave a small nod. She only hoped that meant his agreement. Suddenly, a dark angeling of Elyon’s Regiment broke free of the melee and dropped down on Tajael. He whirled and slashed at his attacker. The two each sunk their blades into the other, but whereas Tajael growled with the gush of blood from his shoulder, the other angeling screamed as the blade-of-light sank into his chest. Tajael yanked his blade free and stepped back as the angeling slumped to the floor. Then he turned and roared as he charged, his blood-soaked blade held high.
The three went down together—Tajael grabbing hold of her to wrench her free, her sandwiched in the middle as they rolled on the floor, and Micah holding tight to her back and slashing with her blade. Only he miraculously missed Tajael with each pass and instead bit into her bindings. His blade scored her arms where her fingerless gloves didn’t reach, but only with glancing drags of the tip. When the last of the bindings fell free, Erelah felt the magic block release. Tajael gave one final growl and sunk his blade into Micah’s shoulder. He was shadow, and the blade was light, and his scream rose above the buffeting wind… but Tajael’s slash was not deep. Micah would be sickened by it, but not killed.
Tajael grabbed hold of her arm and lifted her into the air, free of the platform. Then he gave a trumpeting blast of angelsong and wrenched open a portal, slipping them both through it and away from the fight.
In an instant, they were back in her father’s palace of black, standing on the balcony. Tajael’s cry must have been the signal—with a flurry of interdimensional light and flutters of black wings, her father’s Regiment popped the air and reappeared above them. Her father followed, and last of all, a cohort of angelings appeared on the balcony next to her, two holding a dragon between them.
Leksander.
She lurched over to him. “What is wrong with him?” she screeched, her hands out to touch his glittering silver scales, but what could she do? He was covered in blood, sagging between the angelings as they lay him on the balcony’s cold glass floor.
“He took many strikes—” one started, but the other cut him off.
“He fought valiantly,” the angeling said solemnly.
“What? No!” Erelah knelt by his side. He was breathing still—she could see his chest rise and fall—but the cuts were numerous and deep. And made by shadow blades.
Leksander was nothing if not a being of the light. The shadow was killing him.
“Leksander!” she cried out, fighting back tears because she would not give into that. This was not beyond fixing. She cradled his dragon snout in her hands, the steely smoothness wrenching her heart. How often had she seen him in dragon form but never touched him? How often had she admired his beauty and fierceness from afar, his perpetual goodness in fighting to defend humanity? And now here he lay, finally in her arms, and the slow trickle of blood from his mouth was tearing her heart into pieces. “Leksander, please hear me,” she sobbed.
His ice blue dragon eyes slowly blinked open. Erelah. You’re safe. His thoughts dropped into her mind, as they did when he was in this form. Then he shifted to human again, naked except for the slashes across his body, which she could now see were numerous and not only leaking out blood but seeping shadow magic in.
“We must leave,” Tajael was saying to her, although she scarce could hear him. Her focus was on the way Leksander’s hand sought hers, the soft grimacing smile on his face, the way his eyes were slowly closing again.
“Leksander,” she gasped and leaned in. “My beloved.” You cannot die. The words rang through her, but she didn’t know if he heard either the ones she spoke or the ones she meant. His eyes were closed, and a horrible fear pulsed through her they would never open again. She whipped her head to Tajael standing next to her. “We must save him.” Her voice was shrill, and she could hear the panic in it. The other angelings had backed away, whispering and hovering, but Tajael remained by her side, staring at her with wide eyes. Even her father’s face was clouded with some turmoil she didn’t understand.
Why weren’t they helping her? If she were made of light, she could give Leksander a life kiss, but his wounds were made of shadow, and the two might simply fight inside him and destroy him. Then again, she was shadow now. Could shadow angels give life kisses?
She didn’t know how this realm worked!
“Don’t just stand there!” she cried out to Tajael and her father and all the angelings hovering around her, everyone doing nothing. “Help me.”
Tajael exchanged a look with her father, who gave him a small nod. Then Tajael knelt at her side. “I will help you,” he said, eyes still wide, almost panicked as he studied her face. What was wrong with him? “But not here.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “He’s dying, Taj!”
His expression grew determined. “Elyon will come looking for you. And he’ll look here first. We can’t have him find you… or Leksander.” Then he leaned over to scoop up Leksander’s inert form. He was limp in Tajael’s arms, and that hollowed her from the inside like nothing she’d ever felt. “Come,” Tajael said. “We’ll return him to his keep, where we can heal him. You’ll both be safe there, once the wards are back up.”
She dully nodded, head buzzing as the fear of losing the man she loved engulfed her.
She rose to her feet, and with one hand on Tajael’s shoulder and another on her beloved’s, Erelah wrenched them all away from the shadow realm and back to the mortal world where Leksander belonged.