Shadowman grips the cold staff of his scythe, its blade pitiless as death and sharp as his grief. Shadows howl and roar as they surround him like great dark beasts of wind and fury.
Over the encircling snarl, a soul cries a high song of deepest terror. It is an Old sound brought up by a child’s throat in a composition of broken, dissonant notes summoning Death to a hunt.
Talia.
The scream rips through veils of Twilight and rends the bindings of his prison. Freedom. Shadow snaps at his heels, but they cannot follow him.
Through his child’s scream, he is born again into the world.
Day. Sunlight breaks on the cloak at his shoulders as he emerges onto the battlefield. Neither forest nor structure obstructs his view; Death was made for war.
Talia.
A host of men train their weapons on his daughter. Deathless ones ruled by soulgnawing hunger slink toward their human prey. And beyond the fray, over the crest of the mountain, a demon, master of this chaos.
The snake who slipped by Death and into the mortal world while he was lost to Talia’s mother.
Demon! Harm my child and you will see what hell Death can wreak on Earth.
The demon opens a human mouth to laugh back at him.
TWELVE
A scream shattered the air. Adam hoped it wasn’t his; if nothing else, he wanted to die like a man. He summoned his will and steeled himself for what was to come.
The high-pitched sound went on, burning through Adam’s head, but rendered, thank God, from a woman’s throat. His ear drums contracted. The noise, unending, reverberated through his body and shuddered his marrow.
Jacob staggered, his sick kiss stalled, his grip relaxed—
Yes! Adam ducked out of Jacob’s embrace. Kicked back and connected with his chest. Adam dropped to his knees, dragging his rifle from where it had flapped uselessly at his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The impact of the shots made a dimpled trail up Jacob’s torso, pushing him off balance, driving him to collide with the edge of the terrace and plummet over the ornate railing to the ground.
Brilliant light drew Adam’s eyes upward, to the top of the garage. To Talia.
He stumbled back in awe.
Her skin glowed with an ethereal inner radiance, brighter than the sun overhead, yet not painful to gaze at with bare eyes. Her hair whipped wildly around her. Her arms and fingers were outstretched with the effort to push the piercing sound out of her chest. Her soul-wrenching cry for help gripped him at his core.
“Angel,” Adam said.
“I think not,” Philip answered. He huddled at the wall, crossing himself. “Banshee, the herald of Death.”
The blue sky around her darkened and shredded. Silken azure edges snapped in a tornado of dark wind. Black wind. Out of the howling vortex, a man clawed, ripping at the grasping shadows with angry vehemence. He gripped a sickle. No, a scythe.
“Shadowman,” Adam murmured.
Death glanced down on Adam, as if he’d heard him. The cloak’s hood fell to Death’s broad shoulders. His eyes were tipped up, like Talia’s, but pulsing with violent violet. The black sheet of his long hair gleamed against shadowy skin. His arms lifted so that the cloak winged at his sides. If ever there were an angel of death—
On the rooftop, a wraith lunged with the stupid temerity to put hands on Talia. Bad choice.
As Death straightened, he twisted. His body uncoiled with a deadly swing, connected and lifted the wraith’s body as the blade cleaved. Dust flew from the sundered form. The remains fell in heaps of bone and leather. Adam’s heart clutched as Shadowman rounded on Custo, frozen in place by fear or shock, but Death passed him by to sweep his blade at two more wraiths, just reaching the roof. Their heads skipped as they rolled across the flat top, to plummet like stones on the soldiers below.
Still Talia screamed. The sound was a hot wire of terror. The soldiers fired on Death, bodies shaking with the report of their guns. Probably not a good idea either.
Shadowman’s scythe sliced through the air at the helicopter and cut its wraith pilot from the world. The helicopter careened into the trees with a red-black explosion that shook Segue.
“Fall back,” a man shouted.
The wraiths leaped from the roof to the grass and fled across the lawn, scattering and crushing the much slower soldiers, but Shadowman followed, a phantom riding the wind in their wake. The silver blade arced in a cold, colorless rainbow, and cut the monsters down.
Wraith bodies crumbled as Shadowman threshed. Shadowman, the answer to the bloodlust that beat at Adam’s temples. The sight went beyond powerful—it was fucking fun, and would have been more so if Adam himself could have wielded the weapon of their destruction. But he couldn’t have everything.
Maybe he could…
Adam ran to the edge of the terrace. He gripped the balustrade, peering on the grass for one particular monster.