-Sheoul-gra. The place where dead demons went until their souls could be reborn. But according to many, deceased evil humans, vampires, weres, and shapeshifters didn’t go there, because they couldn’t be reborn.
“You’re wondering why she’s there instead of suffering eternally in Sheoul?” Byzamoth dug his finger in the wound, and Wraith grit his teeth against the pain. “She’s serving there. Serving the demons who are waiting to be reborn. The things they make her do…”
Wraith could imagine. Didn’t need to imagine, actually.
“She had a message for you, her darling boy.” Byzamoth punched his hand into Wraith’s gut, and agony accompanied a wet, hideous rip. “She can’t wait to see you. And she’ll make what she did to you as a child seem like, well, child’s play.”
A shudder ran through Wraith, no matter how hard he tried to contain it. Even after all these years she could prey on his fears.
No. She was not going to win, and he was not going to be seeing her anytime soon. Because his mother no longer had control of his fears. Not when his greatest fear was losing Serena. He had to get to her. But Byzamoth’s hand was deep inside his body, tunneling its way up to his heart.
“Now, I send you to see your mother.”
Wraith dug into his pocket for a weapon. His fingers, slippery with blood, found a blade, but he couldn’t grasp it… but wait… he closed his fist around the wooden top. Byzamoth’s fingers found his heart.
Byzamoth squeezed. Weakly, Wraith stabbed the pointed end of the top into Byzamoth’s eye. The fallen angel reared back. Finally free, Wraith punched a dagger into the fallen angel’s gut. It sank deep, and Byzamoth hit the deck.
“Mother,” Wraith rasped, “is going to have to wait.” With a snarl, he slashed Byzamoth’s throat. The fallen angel’s neck opened up all the way to his spine. Blood flowed in a river, but the holy site seemed to be ready. Steam billowed up as the blood burned to ash. Quickly, Wraith slit his own wrist, let the blood drain into the wound.
Instantly, Byzamoth went up in smoke.
That was it? Wraith had thought an angel’s death would somehow be more dramatic.
Outside, demons shrieked as they, too, began to flame. Wraith looked down at himself, made sure he wasn’t on fire. So far, so good. Except for the fist-sized hole in his gut.
He seized the amulet from the floor where it had fallen when Byzamoth poofed, and staggered out of the Dome of the Rock. In the distance, Eidolon moved from human to human, healing where he could. Nearby, Tayla barked out orders to the less severely injured Guardians. Luc was rendering aid and looking a little worse for wear himself, but he appeared to have all his body parts. Near the Harrowgate, Reaver was spreadeagled on the ground, chains holding him down.
Wraith gathered Kynan’s body in his arms and limped down steps that were tacky with burned demon remains and human blood. Eidolon looked up from healing a guy wearing what looked like a Spanish military uniform, his expression falling when he saw Kynan.
“Is he…”
“Yeah.”
Still, E’s dermoire lit up as he lay his hand on Kynan. “Ah, fuck.” His arm fell away.
“Yeah.” Wraith cocked his head toward Reaver as Eidolon channeled a healing wave into him. “Someone needs to help the angel. I’m going to Serena.” He looked down at Kynan’s limp body. “And Gem.”
Lore had to take a leak. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting in the hall of what he’d figured out was an Aegis house, but he really could use an opportunity to stretch his legs and hit the bathroom. Why the fuck his brothers had brought him here instead of leaving him at the hospital was beyond his comprehension
Being chained up there was just as good as being chained up here, and likely less hazardous to his health, given how the Guardians eyed him like they wanted to drag him outside and use him for target practice.
The door across from him opened, and Shade came out of the room.
“So.” Shade crossed the hall and stopped in front of Lore. “What’s your deal? We haven’t had a chance to chat.”
“Too bad, too, because you seem like such a nice guy,” Lore drawled.
Shade thunked him in the forehead with his palm. “Says the guy who tried to kill his own brothers.”
“Yeah, about that.” Lore glanced down at his arm, and then glanced at the matching set of markings that marched their way up Shade’s forearm. “I know you and your brothers are a breed of incubi. So I’m guessing I am, too?”
“What did you think you were?”
“Dude, I didn’t even know I was a demon until I was in my twenties.”
Shade gave him a you’re-a-dumbass look. “The fact that you were born with a dermoire wasn’t a clue?”
“Dermoire? That’s what it’s called?” At Shade’s nod, Lore shook his head. “I wasn’t born with it. It appeared when I was twenty.” He remembered the hell he’d gone through immediately prior to the appearance of the markings, the insane desire to have constant sex when, for twenty years, he’d not even gotten an erection.
“It appeared when you were twenty?” Shade frowned. “What species was your mother?”