Asiftheyhadn’tbeentryingtodojustthat.Icanalmosttastetheirfear,lacedwiththebravadotonotletapairofblack wings and a couple of shinyknives scare themoff Poor sods don’t stand a chance, but they’ll realise it too late Just like always.
“Come on then,” I beckon with a sardonic smirk, readying my stance. My wings flex behind me, causing a few loose featherstodrifttotheground adarkcontrastagainstthecrackedconcrete “Showmewhatyou’vegot”
This is what I’mreduced to. Acelestial warrior, once revered, now slummingit inhumanalleys, dealingwithgarden varietycriminals.It’snotHeaven,butatleastit’saction.AtleastIgettomakeadifferencehere,inmyownrebelliousway, fightingforthosewhocan’tfendoffthedarknessthemselves Afuckingrenegade.
Scar-Eyebrow snarls and comes atme, a rusted chainswingingina deadlyarc ButI’ve danced this dance before my movementsarefluid,asymphonyoflethalgrace.Ileanbackjustenoughtoletthemetalwhipthroughtheairwheremyhead wasasplitsecondago
Theotherscirclelikehungrywolves,butthey’repuppiesplayingatbeingpredators.Theireyesflickertomywings,black feathers slickand glisteningunder the harshglare ofthe alley’s flickeringstreetlamp Icansmell their fear mixed withthe city’sgrimeandrot.It’sintoxicating.
As the remainingassholes scatter, helpingtheir fallenbrethrenescape, Icatchmybreathand leanagainstthe cool brick wall, lettingthe adrenaline settle inmyveins like a headycocktail. The taste ofvictory’s sweetonmytongue, butthere’s a bitternessthatlingers,thekindthatcomesfrommemoriesbestleftburied.
“Castoutfor havinganopinion,”Imutter tomyself “For wantingabitmorethanharpstrummingandblindobedience” There’s a stinginthose words, the thornof betrayal that never quite worked its wayfree. Heaven’s meant to be all about forgiveness,love,andsecondchances Turnsoutthey’reabitpickyaboutwhogetsthem
Makingmywaytothe supernatural nightclub,Affinity,todance anddrinkmywoes away,the city’s pulse thrums around me,a low andconstanthum,like the bloodbeatofsome vast,slumberingcreature Neonlights flicker atme as Istalkpast, their sicklyglow no matchfor the shroud of darkness that cloaks mycurrent corner ofthe world. The graffiti onthe walls seemstocomealiveinthedimlight,snarlingtagsandvibrantmuralstellingstoriesofliveslivedloudlyanddefiantly
Acar alarmbleats somewhere inthe distance, followed bythe muffled thud of a bass line froma passingvehicle, the night’s soundtracknever skippinga beat. Above it all, the faintest whisper of voices carried onthe breeze speaks of lives continuing,oblivioustothefraythatjustunfoldedhere
I stretch, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, the sensation of my muscles pulling taut, a stark reminder of my corporeal ties now I’mbanished to earth, whichis botha blessingand a curse Feelinghumanvices pulse throughmybody withthesupernaturalstrengthofthedivineisaheadycombination,onethatmakesmehornyandthirsty.
Bassthumpsthroughmybodylikeasecondheartbeat,eachpulsesynchingwiththeflickerofstrobelightsthatcutthrough the smokyhaze. I’minthe thickof it, amidst gyratingbodies and creatures of the night, all of us reduced to shadows and silhouettesundertheclub’smoodyglow.Avodkatonicclutchedinonehand;Iletgowiththeother,myfingerscurlingaround theairasifit’stangibleasifIcouldcatchtheveryessenceofthisrecklessfreedom.Iswishmylonghairaroundmyshoulders, myleather-cladhipsswayingfervently
Itakeaswigofmydrink,relishingtheburninmythroatasitleavesatrailoffireinitswake Thesensationremindsmeof plummetingfromgrace, the heatofrebellionthatonce scorched myivorywings into these blackened feathers. Another sip, anothermemory–banishmentnevertastedsosweet
Itossmyheadback,longhaircascadingbehindmelikearaven’swingunfurling Thedancefloorisabattlefield,andI’m not one to shyawayfroma challenge. Witheverytwist and turn, I amdefiance incarnate, a celestial warrior cast out and revellinginherfall
Hispresenceislikeadropofinkinwater,darkandspreading,impossibletoignore Darkhair fallscarelesslyover his forehead,andthosesparklingblueeyeslockontominewiththeintensityofapredator.
He’scloseenoughthatIcanseethethrillofthehuntinhisgaze,thatagelesshungerofavampirewho’sseencenturiespass by like falling stars. He moves with the confidence of one who has tasted both life and death and found them equally intoxicating
“Showtime,”Isay,andthenI’mmoving,adanceofdeathchoreographedbyyearsofnecessity.Myarmsworkintandem, blades arcingthroughthe gloom, severinglimbs and spillingichor across the concrete. There’s a beautyinthe violence, a graceinthewaymybodyweavesbetweenstrikesandcounterswithlethalprecision
“Damn, angel,” Zane says, almost admiringly. I canhear the smirkinhis voice evenif I can’t see it. “You’re quite the sight”
Witharoar,Zanevampsoutandjoinsthefray.Hemoveslikesomethingprimal,allbruteforceandbaredfangs.Hishands are weapons, crushing bones and tearing through flesh as if it’s wet paper. I can’t deny there’s something visceral about watchinghim,somethingundeniablyattractiveintherawpowerhewields
Icanfeelthevibrationofmypulseinmytemples,adrenalinefloodingmysystem,sharpeningeverysense.Mybladescroon witheachstrike theyknowtheirpurpose,andtheyfulfilitwithanalmostholyzeal “Everconsideredthecircus?”Zanejests,breakinganeckwithatwistofhishands.“You’dmakeakilleracrobat.” “Thoughtaboutit,”Ireply,duckingaswipethatwouldhavetakenmyheadoff.“ButIheardthepay’sshit.” “Can’tbe worse thanthis gig,” he laughs, and the sound is so atodds withthe chaos around us thatitalmostmakes me smile.
Almost
He’s not wrong. This gig pays nothing. I live hand to mouth, sometimes getting paid for doing shady investigating for humans,sometimesforthepolice,whichisnolessshady,buttheyjustwanttokeeptheirhandsclean “Focus, Zane,” Iwarn, feelingthe press ofour enemies startingto lessen, their numbers dwindlingunder our onslaught. “Let’sfinishthis.”
The feelingofdisplacementdescends like anold friend. There was a time whenIbelonged to the skies, whenthe stars were mycompass and the clouds mybed Banished for daringto question, for wantingmore thanblind obedience, I often wonder ifthe price for myrebellionwas too steep. Heaven’s loss, Earth’s gain theysay. Butdo theyknow the weightof wingsturnedtolead?
“Realist, huh?” I pushawayfromthe wall, blades readyinhand “Well, then, let’s see if realityincludes gettingsome answers.”
Zane’s hand finds my hip, his touch firmand unyielding It’s possessive, a silent claimthat sends a jolt of awareness throughme.
“Zane,” Iwarn, butmybodybetrays myintent, leaninginto himas ifdrawnbysome primal magnetism His other hand movesdownmyback,tracingthecurveofmyassuntilgoosebumpsriseonmyflesh.
Hiscockpulsesinsidemypussy,andIclencharoundhim,elicitingagroanthatvibratesagainstthewalls.Witheachthrust, I’mlostinthe sensation, the slickheatofour bodies meldingtogether I’mincontrol, and Ilove it the wayhis eyes glaze overwithlust,thewayhisfangselongateslightlyinhisopen-mouthedpleasure.
“Shh,” I silence him with a kiss, fierce and possessive. Even though it’s casual, all of this, the way he looks at me sometimes like I’mthe sun, moon, and stars it’s too much. I won’t be anyone’s everything. Not after fallingso far from grace
Reachingbetweenus, I circle myclit withpractised ease, chasingmyownrelease withanurgencythat has mywings flutteringagainstmyback Zanewatches,entrancedasIbringmyselfclosertotheedge
The damp air filteringout of the tinybathroominto myone-roomapartment clings to myskinas I slip into myleather jacket,thecoolmaterialastarkcontrasttothelingeringwarmthfromZane’sbody.
“So,” Isayas he leans againstthe doorframe withthatpredator’s grace unique to his kind, “this secretsociety what’s theirendgame?”
That’swhatI’veheardthistimeofthenightcalled.It’snoteven1AM,andyetitfeelslikewe’vebeenoutfordays. The darkness seeps under your skinand whispers secrets, and I’malreadyitchingbeneathmyleather jacket, feelingthe weightoftheearlierrevelationsandZane’ssteadypresenceatmyside.
“Thefirststepisintel”Myvoiceisaconspiratorialhushinthestillnessofthecitythatneverseemstorest “Weneedeyes andearseverywhere everyshadynookandcrannywherethesesocietycreepsmightslither.” “Sounds like mykind ofreconnaissance” Zane’s lips turnup inamusement “Ihave a few debts to collect, people who owememorethanblood.”
“Perfect.”Thewordslicesthroughthechillair,decisive.“Turnthosedebtsintoassets.Butremember,we’reghosts they can’tknowwe’recomingforthem.Notyet.”
Inside,thepatronsareasmorgasbordofthesupernatural wraiths,ghouls,andcreatureswhosenamesI’veyettolearn,all stewing in their own filth and vice. They look up briefly as we enter, then dismiss us. Two more lost souls in a sea of corruptionaren’tworththeirattention
“Shit,” Imutter, as four hulkingfigures detachthemselves fromthe darkness ofanalleywayahead. They’re dressed like undertakersonabender,allblacksuitsandsinistersmiles
Ifeel the rushofcombatand lose myself One comes atme, batonraised high, buthe’s slow, so damnslow Myblade meetshisthroat,andhegurgles,asoundlostbeneaththedinofthecity’snightlife.
Thechillairseepsintomybonesaswezigzagthroughthenight.Flyingpastdumpstersandleapingoverchain-linkfences withanurgencythat would give parkour enthusiasts a runfor their money, Zane is a blur beside me, his vampiric speed a godsendattimeslikethesewhenheneedstokeepup.
“Homesweethome,”hesays,butthere’snowarmthinhisvoice It’sjustanotherbattleground “Cosy.” I size up our refuge. The walls are lined with ancient stone, cool and unwelcoming. It strikes me then the enormityofwhatwe’redoing Fightingasecretsocietythat’sbeenaroundlongerthaneitherofushashadourfeetonEarth’s soil.Yet,herewestand,tworebelswithoutacause,exceptmaybesurvival.
“Charm,blades,whatever works” Idropthe towel andsurveythe lair There’s a table ladenwithvarious weapons that wouldmakeanyarmouryjealous.“So,thisiswhereyou’vebeenhoardingthegoodstuff.”
“Good.” I nod, resolute, the weight of our shared purpose solidifyingbetweenus. We might have started this dance as nothingmorethanbedpartners,butfate orsomethingequallytwisted hasmadeusalliesinawarbiggerthanourcombined lifetimes.Andbythelooksofit,it’sonlyjustbegun.
“Enforcers don’t just sniff around without good reason,” I mutter, my voice a low growl. “We’ve rattled some cages, haven’twe?”
“Looks like it,” Rogue agrees, her blue eyes scanningthe table full of everyweaponknownto kill a supernatural, her included.AnangelImighthavetroublewith,butonewhosecelestialdivinityhasbeencompromised,yeah.I’vegotitcovered. She’snottheonlyfallentowalkthesegrimystreets,andnotallofthemareasmorallyoffwhiteassheis Alwaysalert,she’s coiledtensionandgrace,adangerousbeautywithwingsthatwhisperofmysteriesI’mitchingtounravel.
Stiflingmygroanas mycockgoes hard, Irally. This nightstarted offso great, and now it’s become somethingdarkand crazed.I’mnotevensurewhatthefuckournextmoveis.
“Time tohitthe streets,then.We neednames,places anythinglinkedtothis society,” Isuggest,rollingmyshoulders in anticipation
“Your fall fromHeaven... Whatwas itabout? Your purpose here?” Iprod, tryingto pierce the veil she wraps so tightly aroundherself,knowingthetimingisepicallybad,butsometimesthecuriositygetstoomuchformetokeepmytrapshut Not thatI’manopenbook.SheknowsnothingaboutmyturningorexactlyhowlongI’vebeenwalkingtheearthastheundead.But thisisatwo-waystreet Shespills,andsowillI
“Curiositykilled the cat, Zane.” She sidesteps myquestionwithpractised ease, her smirkwideningas Ifullyexpected. “Butfortherecord,I’mnotyourtypicalfallenangelnarrative.Ihadideas.Ambitions.Theydidn’tlikethatupstairs.”
A rat scuttles across our path, squealing as it disappears into a maze of refuse The air reeks of urine and something metallic notblood,justthetangofrusterodingfromthefireescapeaboveus.
Rogue nods toward anunlitdoorway, her voice lackinganyofthe levitywe shared moments ago “Icanfeel them The societyisclose.”
“Feel them?” I echo, scanning the darkened threshold, my own abilities searching for the telltale signs of supernatural surveillance.
“Anangel always knows whenshe’s beingwatched,” she says,andthere’s a chill toher words thatcuts deeper thanthe nightair
SpottingthebarwhereI’mtoldtheinformantholesup,Ipushopenthedoor,anditresistswithagroan,asifwarningus against what lies within. The hinge squeals a feral cat protesting the night’s invasion. Rogue is at my side, her presence electric,eyesscanningtheroominawaythatwouldmakethemosthardenedcriminalsshiver.
Everythingabouthimscreamsdanger,fromthecasualleanofhistallframeagainstthebartothecruelglintinhiseyes “Let’s hope he prefers chit-chatover a brawl,” she adds, butthere’s a steel inher tone thattells me she’s prepared for either
“No one is listening,” Ipoint to the other patrons, two ofwhomare so drunk, they’re alreadyslidingdowntheir booth seats,eyesclosed,andtherestofthemchatteringawayoverthethumpofthejukeboxinthecorner.
“Sincewhendoyougetcoldfeet?”Rogue’svoiceissteady,butIseethetensioninthesetofhershoulders “Since demons started requestingmidnightrendezvous ingraveyards whenwe know the bigbad is intown.” Iscanthe murkycornerswepass,everysenseonhighalert
“Keep your fangs sharp,” she advises witha smirkthatdoesn’tquite reachher eyes. “We need whatever this Ethanshit knows Andbytheway ”Sheturnstomewithanirritatedglare “Youdidn’tthinktogivemeaheadsup?Youknowdemons givemetheick.”
AlthoughpartofmegetswhyEthanwanted to head outoftownfor this discussion. Ifhe knows stuffthatcanhelp us take downthis society, thenhe isn’tgoingto want them toknowthat
Weareaboutanhourawayfromdawn.Icanfeelthepullonmyveinsasweapproachthegraveyard’swrought-irongates, whichgroaninprotestas we slip through. The moonhangs low, castinganeerie glow over the tombstones thatjutfromthe earthlikebrokenteeth Achillskittersdownmyspine,andit’snotfromthenightair SpottingEthanlurkingintheshadows,InodatRogue.“Watchyour “Mywarningcutsshortasafigurelungesfromthe shadows,ablurofmalevolenceaimedstraightforEthan’sback “Fuck’ssake!”Icurse,butRogueisalreadyinmotion.
Withpreternatural speed, she intercepts the assassin a spindlycreature withtoo manyjoints and eyes that gleamwith malice.Herbladessingtheirdeadlytune,twinarcsofblackenedsilverthatflashinthemoonlight.Thesoundofmetalpiercing fleshechoes,agruesomecountermelodytothehushedwhispersofthewind.
“Nice try,” Rogue taunts, her movements lethal as she ducks and weaves The creature hisses, a sound torn from a nightmare, but Rogue is relentless. With a swift, brutal thrust, she ends the threat, her angelic weapon buried deep in the assassin’schest
Ethan’s mouthhangs open, a rare momentofspeechlessness for the demon Alow whistle slips fromhimas he nods at Rogue,hisglowingeyeswidewithsomethinglikerespect ormaybeit’sjustthefacthe’sstillbreathing.
“Save it, Green Eyes Just because I didn’t let you become wormfood doesn’t mean we’re pals” She steps over the remainsofthewould-beassassin,hergazeneverleavinghim.“Nowtalk.Thesociety what’stheirendgame?” Ethanscratcheshishead,feigningdeepthought.“Aren’tyoumoreinterestedinwhytheywantmesilenced?”
“Are youalways this infuriating?” Icutin, feelingthe stingofirritationathis evasiveness It’s like watchingtwo chess mastersstrategizing,eachmovelacedwithdoublemeanings.
Theclockmocksmewithitsrelentlessticking,areminderthatat8AM,theworldofmortalsiswakingupwhilecreatures like me haunt the shadows. My unfurled wings itch with restlessness as I roammy sparsely furnished apartment, the low sunlightcastinggoldenlinesacrossthedarkhardwoodfloor.
A soft knock fractures the silence, and I reach for my blades before I remember I’m not in Heaven anymore here, sometimes a knockis justa knock Iopenthe door to find Ethan, the asshole demon, onmydoorstep, his prettygreeneyes glintinglikeemeraldsinthedarkenedhallway.HisexpressionisoneIcan’tquitedecipher.
“Theyare,butalltheseenforcersyouhavekilledormaimedtonightare not human.Obviously.” “Obviously,” Idrawl “So they’re usingsupes to do the dirtyworkwhile theyconcentrate ongettingthe humans to bow down.Realpiecesofwork,yourmates,aren’tthey?”
Ethan leans forward, elbows on his knees “The society isn’t just a club of human elites playing around They have a hierarchy.Nooneknowswhoisatthetop,buttheunderlings...theyhaveonemission.TogetEarthundertheircontrol.”
“Ofcourse,thepuppetmasterwouldwantthestrings,”Imusealoud. “Exactly. And they’ve gotways ofkeepingthe humans incheck. Butthe supes they’re usingto do their dirtywork, they haveenslavementspells,collarsfortheweres,bloodbindingsforvampires.Fordemons,theyhaverelics.ArtefactsfromHell itselfthatcancompelobedience orworse”
“Let’snotkidourselves,”Ethanbegins,breakingthesilencewithhisgravellytone “Iftheycatchus,it’sgameover They don’tdoslap-on-the-wristpunishments;we’retalkingeternaltorment,Rogue.”
The warehouse where Iexpectto find the demonlooms ahead, a skeletal huskamongindustrial decay Graffiti screams silentbattlesacrossitswalls,andshatteredwindowsstareoutlikeholloweyes.It’stheperfectplaceforcreaturesofthenight tohonetheirlethalcrafts.
Islipinsidesilently.Thespaceisvast,darknessclingingtoeverycornerlikeasecondskin.Iunsheathemyblades,their edges gleaming with a light that seems sacrilegious here. My movements are fluid, a deadly ballet set to the silence of abandonment
“Show-off,” Zane’s voice echoes fromthe shadows as he steps into view. He moves with an elegance that belies his viciousness,thethrillofthehuntaliveinhisgaze.
“Me or the bird?” Iask, feintingleftbefore lungingforward, blades slicingthroughthe air where his throatwould have beenhadhenotdancedaway,laughing.
“How about we focus on not getting killed?” Ethan’s voice booms from the entrance, shattering the playful tension. Shadowsclingtohim,emphasisingthehardlinesofhisjawandthedangerousglintinhiseyes theairshifts,chargedwiththe powerthatrollsoffhiminwaves.
Idive into a routine ofstrikes and evasions, Zane joiningme, our movements a symphonyofcontrolled violence Ethan watches,hispresenceasilentchallenge,pushingmetosharpenmyinstinctstobecometheweaponIneedtobe.Toseethefight throughhiseyes,whichIwon’tlie,scarestheshitoutofme.ImaynotbeHeaven’sdarlinganymore,butIsureasshitamnot Hell’sbitcheither.Onceagain,ImarvelatthefinelineIwalkeverydayandwonderwhatthefuckI’mdoing.
“Exactly. And they’re planning something big something that’ll tighten their grip even further.” He stops, facing me directly,thewarehousedarkeningaroundus
Theclatterofmybladesechoesoffthestarkwallsofthewarehouse,ametallicsymphonytomybubblingrage “Theythink they’re gods, playingwithlives like they’re pawns ona chessboard!” The thrust and parryof myweapons punctuate each word
“Patience?” I snort, spinning around to face him. “How many will suffer while we wait? How long before their grip tightens,andwe’releftgaspingforair?”
“Fine line between recklessness and courage, isn’t it?” His smirk is infuriating, but beneath it, I catch a glimpse of somethingelse,asharedrevulsionatthesociety’sdeeds.
“Sometimes lines are meant to be crossed,” I growl, slashing the air with renewed vigour. The shadows cling to me, whisperingsecretsofthenightasifthey,too,despisethehiddentyrannyweface.
LiamBaker strides further into the warehouse, and the air seems to shift around his six-five frame, like reality itself is makingroomfor him. He’s gotthatwalk firm, unshakable, the kind ofstride thatscreams ‘cop’, evenoutofuniform. His blondehairistousledasifhe’srunhishandsthroughitonetoomanytimesinfrustration,andthosegreeneyesscantheroom withavigilancethattellsyouhe’sseenmorethanhisshareofdarkness.
“Fine,”Liamconcedes,thoughthewarinessdoesn’tleavehisposture.Heturnshisgreen-eyedgazebacktome.“I’veseen what this secret societycando, Rogue. They’re not just dabblinginpettycrime they’re orchestratingit. Theyexploit the vulnerable and sacrifice the innocent for their owngain I became a police officer to protect people, not watchas they’re devouredbythecorruptioninthiscity.Ifexposingthesocietymeansputtingmyselfinthecrosshairs,thensobeit.Ican’tlet themcontinueunchallenged,notnowthatthey’reuppingtheante Ineedhelp”
Hisemeraldeyesflickerwithasparkthatbelieshishumanfrailty.“Firstly,weneedtounderstandtheirmovements the society’sreachextendsfarbeyondwhatthepubliceyesees.”
Liamnods, his lips pressed into a thinline. “Unfortunately, myvisiondoesn’tcome withsupernatural perks. ButwhatI lackinangelicabilities,Imakeupforingoodold-fashioneddetectivework”
Mygazeinvoluntarilytracesthecontoursofhissolidform.Human,hemaybe,butthereisnothingdelicateabouthim.He is builtlikeatreeandoneI’dclimbtoscratchmyitchanydayoftheweek Buthe’s off-limits Idon’tcavortwithhumans Their emotionsdisturbwhatI’mtryingtoforget.“Old-fashionedcanbecharming inmoderation.Whatdrivesyoutothrow yourselfintotheviper’snestwithoutasecondthought?”
“Sounds boring,” Isay, but there’s a grudgingrespect inmygaze. Ican’t denythe appeal ofa manwho knows how to handlehimselfamidchaos.“Butyou’vegotmyattention.”
The headquarters stands before us, an old Victorian mill building swallowed by shadows The windows are dark and grimy; it looks abandoned, but we know better. A shiver runs down my spine – not fromthe cold, but fromthe sense of wrongnessemanatingfrombehindthosewalls
“Shh,” I hiss as we approach an ornate door, its surface carved with symbols that make my skin crawl. “Symbols,” I whisper,pointingattheintricatecarvings.They’reancient,dark enoughtomakemyangelicheritagerearupinprotest.The figuresaretwisted,humanformsbentunnaturally,shackledtothewillofsomethingmuchmoresinister “Humans,forcedinto servitudebysupernaturalmeans.They’renotjustplayingwithfire;they’retossingnapalmintothedamnbonfire.”
We slip into a shadowychamber, the air ripe withthe scent ofold paper and dust Alongthe walls, shelves brimwith artefacts: jars filled withswirlingshadows, chains thatwriggle witha life oftheir own, masks thatseemto leer atus with holloweyes
“Everythinghere is tainted,” I say, glaringat a chain It writhes under mybeadyeye, seethingwithmalevolent energy “Thesearen’tjustrelics;they’retools.Toolsthey’reusingtobendhumanstotheirwill.”
Asnarkyremarkisprimedandreadytogo,butIstop.Gulpingitback,Itakeinthegravityofhistoneandthehardenedset ofhis jaw. He isn’tfuckingabout, and he has justdiscovered somethingthatIhaven’t, butthere is no partofme thathasn’t curledupandscreamedatmetorun.Thisisbiggerthanweanticipated,butwearerightintheeyeofthestorm.Thereisno wayoutnowthatwon’tbeamaelstromofchaos.
