The blood circle was painted and ready… and moaning.

Razael had used his own blood to stain the flooring of the throne room of the House of Smoke, whispering the ancient incantations as he went, marking invisible symbols with magic. He’d been gratified when the last spell had pulsed enough power to knock him across the room. He hadn’t been sure the incantations would really work—they were ancient spells he’d gotten from the Light angels. He’d known of their existence from his time in the Light, but he hadn’t been their Guardian. Yet they obviously worked—the devil’s trap was clearly active. The floor appeared no different physically, but the connection to the Dominion of Darkness was open.

He could hear it.

The sound was the opposite of his remembrance of the angel choir—where that was thunderous glory and power and righteous Love, this was the howling absence of all those things. Debasement. Agony. An unquenchable Wrath.

It unsettled the dragons, who quickly withdrew, all save Leksander, who would command the wards when they needed to be dropped. Zuriel, Evangeline, and Jael stood in grim silence around the circle, broadswords conjured and drawn, but even they had stepped back from the edge. Razael could feel a sense of vacuum when he drew near it—as if the trap wanted to pull him in.

He kept his distance.

Yet they would all have to venture closer if they were to send Elyon into it.

“What if he doesn’t come?” Evangeline whined. They’d barely been waiting an hour.

“He will come.”

“Yes, but if he doesn’t… can you close this… this thing.” She gave a distasteful look to the blood circle, but he could hear the fear in her voice.

The trouble wouldn’t be in closing it. “Once Elyon is forced through to the other side, we merely have to break the circle.”

“Break it?” Zuriel asked, brows furrowed.

The idea of touching the activated circle unsettled him too. “It must be physically broken. We could erase the blood, but that can’t be done magically, for obvious reasons. And since that can’t easily be done, breaking the floor upon which it’s painted should suffice.”

“Hey, no one said anything about breaking the floor,” Leksander said from the far end of the room. He was pacing in front of the raised dais with the twin thrones for the King and Queen of the House of Smoke. “You’re going to fix that, right?”

Razael didn’t bother to answer—the dragon’s attempt to lighten the mood fell heavily on the assembled angels. Leksander was surely worried about Erelah and Aurora—as was Razael—but being one of the lesser immortals, he was at least familiar with the concept of mortality. It was a concept angels only understood as something which would steal things from them—a beloved angeling with their hundreds-of-years lifespan or a fragile human with their even shorter ones. Razael had a keen sense of the limited number of years Eden would inhabit her beautiful human body before her soul would return to God. Her son would live longer, but still perish long before Razael’s time would come to an end.

Or… he could precede them all by falling into the gaping maw of this trap he’d constructed.

Every angel in the room was uncomfortably watching it with the same look of restrained horror. None had been so closely confronted with their own potential mortality before.

And even that was a misnomer, for he wouldn’t die… he would merely wish he could.

Facing that prospect made him glad he’d succumbed to his desire and kissed Eden. He could still feel the press of her lips, the sweet taste of her mouth, the wrenching softness of her body pressed to his. If everything went wrong, he would have that memory—that sweet, unsullied memory—to hold on to. With Elizabeth, he had lost control, and that memory would forever be seared with the loss of her and his shame for his Sin. With Eden, he had only one, perfect kiss—he’d managed to walk away before he could ruin everything with the madness that would have surely followed.

The tension in the throne room kept them silent as they waited.

An hour passed. And then another.

Jael pestered Evangeline for sex several times—finally, she told him to go to his cloud form. He floated in the room, a churning ball of dark, misty energy. Leksander had watched with wide eyes at first, but then he ignored the static charges and occasional vile smells. The dragon prince was in relatively constant contact with the dragons stationed outside the keep. Razael insisted that they have no angelkind outside, lest they give away the ruse to Elyon, but he kept a small legion of angelings inside. They would only be slaughtered by Elyon should he and whatever forces he brought somehow get past the four angels vying to entrap him, but his angelings had one instruction and one only—save the women and babies, including his daughter Erelah. Laylah was leading the angeling force, and Razael was certain she would relocate everyone at the first sign of trouble.

The trick would be to keep vigilant until Elyon made his move.

And move he must—Razael felt sure of it. There was precious little trust in the shadow realm. Elyon was holding together his alliance of dark angels solely based on the power of his angeling army and his rabid determination to bring down the Light forces, and humanity as well. If the other angels sensed weakness it would be trouble—and his thwarted attempt on Razael’s Regiment, plus the loss of his prized breeding human from his infernal nursery before that, had to show a weakness in Elyon’s control over his own Regiment, as well as being outmatched by his avowed enemy. Razael had earned that moniker in allying with the Light forces in protection of the dragons. It could be excused when it only involved Razael’s daughter—that could rightly be dismissed as squabbling between shadow angels over a personal matter—but offering safe harbor to Elyon’s fleeing human captives? Especially the one pregnant with his child? Plus Razael’s shadowlings in the streets of Seattle, waging war on the side of the Light?

Razael was an enemy of the shadow realm now. Few angels in shadow would understand his position, much less stand with him. The few who would—Zuriel, Evangeline, and Jael—had their own agendas. They were weakly bound and only in order to end the war by cutting off the war-leader’s head. If they failed… especially if the nature of their trap became known… the battle afterward would not go well for them.

That realization must be slowly dawning on the others as the hours wore on.

They needed to make this work, or the whole of the shadow realm would be out for their heads.

It was well into the night when the first signal came.

Finally. Leksander gestured frantically as he spoke into his phone. “Yes! Wait… how many?”

He had everyone’s attention, even Jael, who Evangeline had hurriedly called back into human form.

Leksander met Razael’s steady gaze. “Three angels. Fifty angelings. Got it.” He paused. “No, pull back! Get out of there!”

“Where are they?” Razael asked. Zuriel and Evangeline took their stations. Jael slowly shuffled toward his spot.

“Above the keep. They just appeared—”

Thump. The resounding sound seemed to rock the very foundations of the House of Smoke. Thump! It came again, louder.

Elyon attempting to break the wards.

“Where?” Razael demanded. He needed the eyes of the dragons to tell him.

“I don’t know!” Leksander cried. “Everywhere.”

Thump, thump.

With three angels and a legion of angelings—this would not work if they couldn’t get Elyon alone. Or mostly alone.

Thump, thump, thump, thump… Elyon and his fellow dark angels were rapid-fire hammering the House of Smoke with angelic, ward-breaking power.

“On my count, open the wards,” Razael shouted to be heard above the noise. “Then close them again as soon as I’m out.”

“What are you doing?” Leksander shouted back, but he took a stance by the back wall, preparing to carry out Razael’s orders.

“Luring him here.” Razael carefully set down his blade next to his station on the circle. “Give me twenty seconds. Then open the wards again, and I’ll bring him through.”

“You are a crazy bastard.” Leksander’s eyes were wide. “Tell me when.”

Razael waved at the ceiling. “As soon as I’ve brought him through, raise the wards again.”

Leksander nodded.

Razael caught Zuriel’s gaze. “Others may come as well. Be prepared.”

She nodded quickly. Evangeline’s expression was set in Wrath. Jael had his sword in hand, but he would be useless in an actual fight.

It was all they had.

Razael braced himself—if Elyon and his contingent were directly above them, then dropping the wards now would bring all of his forces directly into the throne room. In which case, the plan would be destroyed—there would be no containing the situation with a legion of angelings and angels in close-quarters combat. The key would be separating Elyon from the others.

He faced Leksander and said, “Now.”

He sensed the magic of the wards—ancient and tasting of fae—humming along the ceiling of the throne room, a thin barrier between them and the outside, made strong only by the magic itself. It was there one moment… and gone the next. Razael twisted and reappeared on the rooftop directly above where he’d been a moment before.

Absolute chaos reigned outside the keep—but the focus was over the apartments farther away.

Did Elyon know where Eden was? A spasm of fear washed through Razael, then he had to work even harder to contain his Wrath. Elyon’s flock of dark-winged angelings hovered and flitted above the apartments while three angels—Elyon and a male and a female—were pounding volleys into the rooftop.

“Elyon!” he cried out at angelsong level, a Warrior Cry that shook the rooftop below him.

The flock pulsed upward, and the volleys stopped.

“Fool!” Elyon replied in ear-splitting angelsong.

Razael was counting the seconds. “You cannot have her,” he taunted. “She’s mine now.”

Elyon disappeared from the far reaches of the keep—and reappeared next to Razael. Elyon’s blast of angel energy sent Razael skidding along the rooftop. Razael twisted and popped out behind Elyon, grappling with the dark angel from behind. Razael had him… but the wards were still up. Elyon roared and threw him off, tossing him and following that with volley after volley that buffeted Razael and kept him tumbling. He twisted out of that and reappeared once again at Elyon’s back—by then, the other two angels had appeared by his side. A dizzying rush of angeling wings churned the air around them.

Then the wards under Razael’s feet dropped.

He lunged for Elyon, catching his arm as Elyon blasted him again with energy. But Razael had a hold, and that was enough. He twisted, opening a portal, but just as he dragged Elyon through—straight down into the throne room—other hands laid hold of him. There was a split moment when Razael thought his human form would be ripped in two—his attempt to drag Elyon through the portal clashing with the other angels’ attempt to keep him in place—but then the struggle went his way…

And they all reappeared in the throne room.

The blast of energy Elyon let loose with a roar broke Razael’s hold and the others too—Razael was tossed through the air, flinging out his wings just in time to avoid dropping into the devil’s circle. A half dozen angelings crashed through the roof, raining debris down on the heads of the angels and Leksander alike. The dragon was climbing to his feet and furiously gesturing at the walls, having been knocked down by Elyon’s energy blast before. More angelings flooded in—then suddenly stopped.

The wards were back up.

Elyon’s angelings were beating themselves against the invisible shield, but getting nowhere.

Then all hell broke loose.

Zuriel screamed her attack on the female angel allied with Elyon. Evangeline hurled her blade at the male, and he took it in the chest, but still kept coming. Both Zuriel and Evangeline were slaying angelings right and left. Elyon called a blade into being as he charged. Razael got his feet under him then lunged for his blade still lying on the floor outside the blood circle.

The circle. He had to get Elyon into it, but how?

Razael barely got his blade up to meet Elyon’s strike. The force of it still drove Razael into the floor, cracking it. He threw a panicked look to the circle, but it was still intact. He roared and shoved upward, sending Elyon crashing up into the ceiling of the keep—which was still protected by wards. He rebounded from there, spreading his wings and slowing his fall enough to come blade-point-down on Razael. He managed to roll away but had to lunge back to his feet to avoid rolling into the circle. Zuriel was holding her own against the female angel, but Evangeline was in trouble—her blade was cast aside, and the male angel had her by the neck, wrestling her to the floor. Jael had finally come to life, but he was ineptly blasting energy at both Evangeline and her attacker, simply rolling them across the floor.

Elyon came up fast behind Razael, his blade swinging for Razael’s head. He ducked then swung up, slicing across Elyon’s arm and nearly dismembering it. But he couldn’t kill Elyon’s body—the dark angel would only escape and reform elsewhere given time. He had to force Elyon into the circle. But the way Elyon took care to spin away from Razael’s second thrust showed he knew. He knew the circle was a trap. Or at least he knew enough to stay out of it.

Fuck. Razael blasted Elyon with energy meant to shove him in, but Elyon leaped out of the way. Then he rushed Razael again, blade first, and Razael could barely parry and keep his head. He stumbled back then twisted and popped out on the opposite side of the circle, the side where Zuriel was fighting the female and Evangeline was still fighting the male on the floor and being bashed by Jael’s hapless magical flailings. Angeling bodies lay all around—they had been quickly dispatched—and Jael kept stumbling over them. Razael shouted at him, trying to gain his attention away from Evangeline and toward Elyon, but it was as if Jael didn’t hear him, he was so focused. Then Razael saw it—Wrath was consuming him. Jealousy. In his addled state, he must think Evangeline and the male were fucking not fighting.

For the love of magic—

But then Elyon was on him again, his blade slicing open Razael’s side—he spun away from that just enough to not be cut in half. Elyon hacked after him, and Razael had to parry just to stay upright. Then, somehow, Razael managed to swing the fight so Elyon’s back was to the circle. One strong blast… Razael dropped his sword and used both hands to stream energy Elyon’s way. Elyon stumbled back, right toward the circle, but at the same time, Jael’s Wrath unleashed in angelsong and an energy blast that sent Evangeline and the male angel tumbling into Elyon’s path. They blocked him from entering the circle…

Then they rolled straight into it.

They didn’t go far, bashing into the other side and rebounding off.

Evangeline screamed angelsong and scrambled to her feet, panic written on her face. Her hands met the invisible barrier, and she pounded her fists on it. The male angel leaped to his feet behind her, but he was likewise panicked, trying to claw his way out. Elyon stood just outside the circle, transfixed as they all were—except Jael who screamed and rushed toward them. Elyon saw him coming and swung his blade… it sliced clean through Jael just as he breached the circle. Jael’s body parted into two pieces, but instead of simply falling to the floor… both pieces fell through. A wail went up from the circle like nothing holy or unholy Razael had ever heard.

Evangeline screamed again, but it was cut short—Elyon had thrust his blade into the circle, catching her right in the throat. He sliced through, and she slumped… and also fell through, following Jael. Razael staggered forward, throwing another energy blast toward Elyon, but he had slipped around the perimeter of the circle to the other side, and the energy bounced off, deflected. Then Elyon thrust his blade into the circle again, impaling the male angel who had come with him for the attack. The look of surprise and horror on the angel’s face was nothing next to the wail of terror as his body fell and disappeared through the floor.

Sent to the Dominion of Darkness.

Elyon’s own ally.

What in the name of magic—

Elyon’s gaze found Razael. They were on opposite sides of the circle. Zuriel and the female angel had stopped their battle, both stunned at what had happened. Razael circled around the perimeter of the blood circle, but Elyon moved likewise, keeping the hellish portal between them. Razael wracked his mind—how to trick him into the circle now?—but he could see no way this ended well. He could grapple with Elyon and plunge both of them into it—and pray he could destroy Elyon before Elyon destroyed him—but he couldn’t see how to even get close enough to accomplish that.

They kept circling.

Soon, Elyon’s back was to Zuriel and the female angel. Razael flicked a look at her. She had a chance. If she blasted him with energy—but then Elyon whirled on her, blasting her into tumbling toward the thrones at the far end. The female angel spun from the path of the blast, and then Elyon beckoned her to his side. But when she came—

He shoved her into the circle.

Razael watched with horror as he sliced her clean through, and she fell like the others with an unholy scream.

Then, with a maniacal glee on his face, Elyon took his blade in both hands and sliced down through the floor, breaking the circle and ripping a gash in the flooring.

The howling and distant screams ceased as if cut by a switch.

Razael let loose a Warrior Cry and a blast of energy—the circle was gone, so it didn’t block the blast. It hit Elyon full in the chest. He stumbled back… right into Zuriel’s blade.

“No!” Razael screamed.

But she was full of Wrath and pushed the blade through. Then she drew back her sword and swung an arc to swiftly cut him in half.

Elyon just smiled through it.

And Razael knew why.

The two halves of Elyon’s body tumbled to the floor. Zuriel stood over it, breath heaving, face horrified. Razael stumbled forward. Within a moment, Elyon’s body disappeared in a burst of light. The one way he could escape the wards—the one way out of the wards holding him in the keep—was to die.

To become vapor and slip away.

Razael stood and stared numbly at the spot where Elyon’s body had been.

“Oh fuck,” Zuriel said, the weight of it hitting her. “Oh fuck… I fucked that up!”

“No,” Razael said heavily. “I did.” He should have seen this coming. He should have devised a more elaborate ruse. Recruited more angels. More angels… his whole being cringed at the thought of Evangeline and Jael in that realm of horror. They didn’t deserve such a fate. And the other two…

He looked up and met Zuriel’s horrified expression. “He sent them to hell. On purpose.”

“But why?” Zuriel was aghast.

Leksander was working his way past the slain angeling bodies. Air wafted through the caved-in ceiling but no more of Elyon’s angelings beat at the invisible barrier of the wards. They must have taken flight when they saw him destroyed.

“Holy shit,” Leksander gasped as he reached them. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Elyon escaped.” Razael’s chest felt the weight of it pressing down on on him.

“But he…” Leksander gestured to the spot where Elyon’s body had been sliced in two and then disappeared.

“He will reform,” Zuriel said, but she was speaking to Razael.

“And he has destroyed all witnesses to what’s happened here.” Razael met her gaze. Did she understand?

“What about the angelings outside?” Zuriel’s voice hiked up.

“I am sure he is destroying them now.” Razael’s head pounded. It wasn’t his wounds. Those were already healed. It was the thick, deadening realization of what he had done.

“Why would he do that?” Leksander asked. He was looking at them both like they were insane, and the whole thing was indeed madness.

But it was clear to Razael what would happen next. “Elyon will tell of the devil’s trap. He will say we sent his fellow angels to hell and slayed all his angelings. He will claim to have barely escaped and only by clever trickery.”

“Oh fuck,” Zuriel said again, her face going slack.

“I still don’t get why…” Leksander trailed off.

So Razael simply said, “Any angel who was in doubt before is now on his side. Any angeling in shadow will now be pledged to him. I feared…” He closed his eyes briefly, the pain of it still rolling into fullness inside him. “I feared he would bring the End of Times by gathering the full might of the shadow realm behind him and waging war against the Light. And now… now I’ve just handed him the very means by which to do that. Every single shadowkind will stand behind him.”

“And once he has that…” Zuriel’s expression was blank now. She knew.

“The war is at hand.” Razael shook his head, slowly. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see this outcome. He’d been worried the other shadow angels might rally against the four of them—Zuriel, himself, Evangeline, Jael—but he never saw this possibility. That Elyon would slay his own and blame them for it. That he would use that falsehood as a pretext for the thing he’d been striving for all along.

But Razael should have seen it.

With dull, heavy steps, he set about repairing the floor and the ceiling. He left the remnants of the circle for others to manually destroy. There was no recalling Evangeline or Jael. Or the other two, whose names he didn’t even know. They would suffer endlessly, and that was a fate that no one deserved, save Elyon… and only because he threatened all else.

Razael’s remorse for this would haunt him for eternity.

“We couldn’t have known,” Zuriel said, coming out of the shock. She’d already lost most of her Regiment to Elyon’s Wrath. Razael’s angelings had been battling his on the streets. They knew of the depravity of his nurseries. The short answer was that they should have known. But somehow, when evil showed its true face, it always took Razael by surprise.

“Return to the Regiment,” he said to her. “Prepare them for what is to come.”

War. The End of Times.

Soon, they may all be joining Evangeline and Jael in hell.