About fifteen feet below me, through the crisscross of splintered floorboards, I could see one end of another altar. Pots of incense at the corners. A group of Mazikin massed, leaning over a struggling figure tied to the table. I could see his chest and shoulders straining against the ropes. And when one of the Mazikin dropped to her knees to stir the incense, their victim’s face was revealed.
Malachi.
THIRTY-FIVE
PARALYZED BY DISBELIEF AND horror, I stared down at the boy I loved, unable to fathom how they could have caught him. He was so strong, so invulnerable, so unstoppable. But now he’d been stripped to the waist. His armor had been tossed to the floor next to the table. Blood coated one shoulder and flowed from a wound in his neck, a clean cut rather than a bite mark. His jaw was ridged, and his eyes were clamped shut as he fought to free himself from the ropes; his wrists were torn and raw from his efforts.
Several of them were touching him, running their hands over his body, exploring their prize. One of the Mazikin, a young woman standing near his shoulder, slid her fingers along his chest. She bent to lick his cheek, her pink tongue seeking his skin. His eyes flew open as he jerked his face away.
And that’s when he saw me. His chest heaved, and his eyes grew wide. In them I saw too many things to name. Love. Regret. Fear. And pleading. It was a look I’d never seen before, and my throat closed as I translated it. He knew what was about to happen to him, and he didn’t want me to watch.
It jolted me out of my paralysis. My fingers clenched around the knife as fiery rage swept through me, more powerful than anything I’d ever felt before, disintegrating any terror or hesitation, sending wave after wave of determination and strength through my body.
Malachi was going to get his wish. I had no intention of watching. I was going to kill. Them. All.
I plunged through that hole with a rending crash as my boots collided with rotting boards, and was in the open air for a split second before landing with a crunch on the Mazikin that had just tried to taste his skin. I grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back; then I drew my knife across her throat as the rest of the Mazikin roared with surprise and stumbled away from the table Malachi was tied to. With my blade dripping red, I dropped my first victim and spun around. There were at least twenty Mazikin in the dimly lit rectangular chamber, which looked like it had once been a private party room. A lot more than we’d anticipated.
I dove for one of the ropes holding Malachi’s wrists and began to slice at it frantically, but a muscular arm looped around my waist and yanked me away before I could cut all the way through. As I was carried backward, I stabbed my captor in the wrist. The arm let me go, and I turned to see a stocky male stagger back. I buried my blade in his neck, splattering blood on a group of Mazikin closing in on me. Malachi was shouting, but I couldn’t hear his words over the snarls and grunts of the Mazikin.
Smoke burned my eyes; one of them was stirring up the incense, filling the room with its heavy haze. Above the table, a dense shape began to coalesce, and then was blocked out as several Mazikin launched themselves at me at once, driving me into a wall. My head bounced off its upholstered surface as my legs kicked at them. I drove my knife upward into the gut of the fat Mazikin directly in front of me, and it doubled over, allowing me to see the ghostly shape near the ceiling turn in the air … and dive into Malachi’s body.
His shoulders slammed into the table, and then he arched up, his head snapping back. His face twisted with agony, his mouth opened in a silent scream. And my whole world shattered. Dimly, I felt the Mazikin grasping at me, trying to wrestle me to the floor, but my heart was with Malachi on that table. Every muscle in his body was rigid as he fought with the smoke beast trying to pry his soul loose, trying to send him to hell.
And if he was still fighting, I would, too. I had to get to him. I had to save him.
My existence shrank to the two feet in front of me. Nothing could slow or stop the slash of my blade, fueled by deadly rage and fierce love. Blood flowed sticky over my hands as I stabbed and withdrew, stabbed and withdrew, planning to kill every single Mazikin who had dared to touch him, dared to hurt him, dared to stand between the two of us. I was beyond reason or rational thought. Beyond pain. Beyond doubt.
Teeth bared and snapping, nails jagged and clawing, the Mazikin lunged. But they couldn’t stop or subdue me. I cut off fingers. Noses. Jammed my knife into eye sockets and necks and guts. Cracked my elbows against mouths and cheekbones and slammed my knee into groins and bellies. They fell onto each other, leaking crimson into a giant puddle on the floor, and it wasn’t enough. I wanted them to drown in their own blood. Red was the only color I could see. I was sure I was bleeding and breaking beneath the assault, but I couldn’t feel it. I knew eventually I’d go down, but I fought for the next moment, the next satisfying vibration as metal sank through flesh and collided with bone. The coppery scent filled my nose, blocking out the stench of incense. All I could hear was the roar of my own heart beating in my ears.
Until one voice cut through all of it. “Get away from her!”
It was so loud, so powerful and authoritative, that all the surviving Mazikin went still for a moment, and then turned away from me to look at the voice’s owner. It was Malachi. The severed ropes dangled from his wrists. One of his razor-sharp throwing knives was dangling from his clenched fist. Blood was smeared along his chest from the wound in his neck, but he stood on the table, unbroken and strong.
Before I could figure out what had happened, the Mazikin next to me growled and clamped his clawed hand around my throat.
Malachi’s knife sliced through the air and plunged into the Mazikin’s back with a hollow thud, and it dropped to the floor without a sound. The creatures around me snarled, and I sank against the wall under the weight of my relief. I’d cut through that rope enough for him to get his hand free, and that had been all he needed. He’d freed himself. Somehow, he’d fought off the smoke beast.
His predator’s gaze slid over a few Mazikin who had pressed themselves against the far walls of the room and were watching him with stunned expressions, and then over to the small group of living Mazikin and the several dead or dying ones all around me. His mouth quirked up at one corner, and then his eyes met mine. They were no longer filled with regret or fear or pleading. Now they were filled with a quiet pride that felt like a caress.
Malachi jumped to the floor and stepped casually over the body of a fallen Mazikin. The remaining creatures appeared too frozen with fear to move. The six or so still around me crouched as Malachi came toward us, like they weren’t sure if they wanted to attack or run.
He feinted toward them, and they squealed and flattened themselves against the wall, sliding out of his reach. Smiling, he leaned over and yanked his throwing knife from the body of the Mazikin who’d tried to grab me. He wiped the knife on his pants but didn’t sheath it.
“It’s okay,” he said, offering his other hand. “It’s me.”
“How did you do it?” I asked hoarsely.
He raised his eyebrow. “I was stronger than he was.”
All the Mazikin in the room nervously eyed the closed doors at either side of the room, their escape routes, but they seemed afraid to move, because that would make them targets. Malachi’s fingers closed around mine, and he helped me climb over the low wall of bodies separating us. I fell into his arms, wrapping myself around him as tears stung my eyes. He held me tightly against him as I started to shake. I had been so close to losing him, and suddenly I couldn’t wait anymore to say how I felt. I had been saving this for our conversation tonight, but the words bubbled out on the current of my happiness. “I love you,” I breathed. “I love you so much.”
His face was buried in the crook of my neck, and I felt him smile against my skin. “Say it again.” His lips moved against my throat, turning my knees to jelly.
“I love you,” I said with a laugh.
“I’ve missed you so much, Lela,” he said, his voice rough. “I had
no idea I’d miss you this much.”
“Are you all right?” I whispered. “That looked so painful.”
“It was.” A warm huff of laughter skated across my skin. “But now I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Now I’m perfect.”
And then his teeth sank into my neck.
I screamed as the truth crashed through my mind like a tsunami, laying waste, washing all my strength away and replacing it with bitter, ragged grief. I’d been so stupid. Too hopeful, too desperate to have him back. Too ready to believe it was him, simply because I wanted it so badly.
But as the rending pain in my shoulder and neck became a deep, penetrating agony, I knew …
Malachi was gone.
They’d killed him.
The boy I loved had been defeated. A monster had taken his place.
And now it was going to kill me, too.
With his mouth clamped at the junction of my neck and shoulder, he pressed me up against the wall, a twisted embrace. I kicked and struggled feebly, but he caught my wrist and squeezed at just the right place, making me drop my knife.
I could barely fight him. I didn’t want to fight him. I was too destroyed by the idea that this body that had touched me with such tenderness, that had caressed me, protected me … was now tearing my flesh, sending hot venom into my bloodstream. All the Mazikin snarled and hooted, enjoying the show. My vision blurred with tears as black memories blossomed in my head: being held down with no ability to defend myself. That someone I had loved and trusted was doing this to me now drowned me in that darkness, sapping my will to survive. I slapped at his shoulders with my free hand, but it was a pathetic effort. Even with everything that had happened to me, I’d never felt this weak. Losing Malachi had sucked the fight right out of me.
Something crashed against one of the doors, and from outside came the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. “Malachi! Are you—” Henry shouted, but the rest of his words were cut off by a muffled explosion.
The creature inside Malachi released my neck. “There are two of them,” he said to the others as my blood trickled down his chin. “Kill them both. And don’t disturb me again.” Then he barked something in their growling language, the sounds foreign and horrifying coming from Malachi’s mouth. He nodded toward the exit behind the altar, on the opposite side of the room. The Mazikin whooped at him as eager grins spread across their faces, and too late it occurred to me that they hadn’t been scared of Malachi when he rose from the table—they’d been scared of this Mazikin. It had to be one of their leaders. As if to prove my theory, they all jumped for the door at once and tumbled through it, ready to join the fight in progress.
When they were gone, the monster behind Malachi’s black-brown eyes looked down at me with the strangest expression, an odd tenderness mixed with savagery. “I don’t know what to do with you, Lela Santos.”
“You killed him,” I whispered, staring at the face I knew so well and loved so much.
He grinned and licked my blood from his lips. “Not really, but he’ll regret that I didn’t. He’s in our city now. They were waiting for him. I wish I could see them celebrating.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to imagine how a city full of Mazikin would treat the Guard who had terrorized them for the last seventy years.
“Look at me, Lela. Your eyes are so beautiful.” He set his forehead on mine. “He loved them, too, you know. Your eyes. Your mouth. Your body. Your spirit. Most of me wants to protect you …”
My heart stuttered as he recited Malachi’s words from that day on the training mat.
He pulled back a little, and I opened my eyes. “He never told you the rest of it,” he said quietly. “It’s all in here—” He tapped his temple lightly with the blade of his knife. “All his memories. So I’ll tell you the rest, because he never would have.”
Tears streaked down my face as he leaned in. “Most of him wanted to protect you, but the rest of him just wanted you. You have no idea what’s in this head.” He closed his eyes, like he was savoring it. With a laugh, he stepped away from me, and I slid boneless to the floor, sobbing at everything I’d lost.
“All his fantasies are in here,” he continued. “Poor Malachi. He makes so much more sense to me now. All that frustration, bottled up tight.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Did you know he died a virgin, Lela?” His laughter rang out, cruel and hard. “Twice!”
A tiny spark ignited inside me. “Don’t talk about him like that,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Oh? Should I show some respect? Maybe so. He’s killed me several times, after all.” He tilted his head as he looked me over. “You’ve only killed me once, but you did quite a job of it. And with only a hunk of cement. I underestimated you.”
Dread welled up, choking me. “Juri.”
His smile widened, and he drew his tongue along his bottom lip. “Say it louder, Lela. I want to hear you scream it.”
“Fuck you,” I whispered, the spark flaring.
He grinned and gestured at his neck. “I think both of us need to patch ourselves up before we get to that. I’ve lost a lot of blood. When the esteemed Captain realized it was a trap, he tried to cut his own throat to keep us from taking him.”
I rolled onto my hands and knees, rage becoming an inferno in my chest. Pure, simple hatred. Enough to heat my muscles and jump-start my fractured heart. All focused on Juri. He watched me with a lazy smile as he leaned on the pool table and used his knife to cut away the ropes from his wrists.
I looked away because the sight of Malachi’s gorgeous face threatened to pull me under again. I focused on the sounds coming from outside the room. Crashes, growls. Would Jim and Henry come back? Did they know we were in here?
“We designed the trap especially for him, knowing of his eagerness to save lost human souls,” Juri said, gazing at his reflection in the blade of his knife and wiping the blood from his chin. “It was worth the wait, and all the weeks of planning and collecting. When he came into this room, all he saw were dozens of frightened young faces. All tied up, helpless and desperate to be rescued.” His eyes glinted, and I knew he was seeing all of it through Malachi’s memories. “As soon as he freed them, they turned on him. At first, he had no idea they were all Mazikin. And even once his situation became clear, he … hesitated. He was afraid some of them might be human.”
Juri looked down at his bare chest, the curves and ridges of muscle he now controlled, and then sauntered over to Malachi’s armor and clothes. He pulled the shirt over his head and secured the baton to his belt. “They were gentle, even though he killed many of them,” he said softly, gesturing toward the far wall.
For the first time, I noticed the huge booth in the farthest corner of the room, where the shadows were deep. It had obviously been meant for VIPs. But now bodies were piled onto the seats and stashed under the table like human trash, used and tossed away by demons from hell. “I’ll reward them for their sacrifice,” Juri said.
He wasn’t talking about the humans. They were only shells to him. He was talking about his Mazikin family. He’d reward them by bringing them back and letting them possess others. By killing more people. Suddenly, it blazed all the way through me like a wildfire, the fight that had been torn away by grief. Malachi had died trying to save innocents. The Mazikin had exploited his selflessness, his courage, his determination. They’d taken his goodness and turned it to weakness. They’d used his compassion as a weapon against him. “I’m going to kill you,” I breathed, my eyes scanning the floor and spotting my knife.
I lunged for it, but he was on me before I reached it, crushing me to the floor. He grabbed a handful of my hair and ran his nose along my cheek. “I love your fire, Lela. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bring myself to turn you.”
He caught the confusion in my eyes. “Did you really think we wanted you for our Queen?” He laughed, the deep vibrations humming against my back as he held me tight, half lover, half enemy. “No, don’t be insulted. You would be a perf
ect vessel, but the Queen will not leave the realm until all her children are here.”
“Why, then?” I whispered, fighting furious, helpless tears as he ground himself against me.
“You still don’t understand? There was no way to get to Captain Malachi, until you came along. His love for you made him careless. To him, you were everything, so it was easy for him to believe you’d be everything to us, too. The more we threatened you, the more single-minded he became, until he did not give his own safety—or importance—a moment of thought. And now that we have Malachi’s mind and his body, the Guards of the Shadowlands are nothing. We will wipe you from this realm and make it ours.”
It took him only a second to roll me over. He held my wrists over my head in a punishing grip while he settled himself on top of me. I jerked my head up to try to smash his nose, but he caught my hair and pulled me back down; then he licked at the bite wound he’d left on my throat, sending waves of painful buzzing electricity along my limbs.
Of course the Mazikin hadn’t wanted me. Because who was I next to Malachi? A stupid girl, pretending to be in charge. Malachi had been a Guard for seventy years. And for all those years, he had been merciless, efficient, and deadly. Inside his head, he carried knowledge of the Guard, of Raphael and his powers, of Michael and his weaponry, of the Judge. Of our strategies. Our backgrounds. Our weaknesses. And the Mazikin now controlling him was one of the most vicious and dominant in existence. The combination would be unstoppable.
And meanwhile, Malachi’s soul was at the mercy of these creatures, trapped forever in a place of fire and death. The broken, enraged scream that came from my throat startled Juri, and he raised his head and lowered his guard just enough. I jerked my hips up and bucked him off me; then I scrambled to my feet and darted across the room.