Black Ops Fae (A Spy Among the Fallen #2)

I followed after him, heels clacking on the marble floor. In the large hall, sunlight streamed through the windows onto walls painted the color of dried blood.

As we reached the imposing oak doors, they creaked open of their own accord. I walked behind Aereus in the hallway, and his essence crackled over my skin. A hot current of rage roiled under the surface of my mind. How could the humans let themselves cower in here as slaves? Why didn’t they work together, rise up against their oppressors? If they worked together, they could find the Devil’s Bane, poison him again and again.

They scurried and shuffled in the shadows, hoping to remain unnoticed. A woman, her filthy hair hanging in tangles over her shoulders, hurried past us, her eyes downcast. She carried a bundle of rags in a basket.

Simpletons. Every human we passed was potential prey. How easy it would be to sink my feral teeth into their necks. How easy to punch my fists through their chests, snapping their ribs, to rub their blood over my bare skin...

A gentle, soothing presence licked at the hollows of my mind—Adonis? Apparently he could feel my rage.

I mentally cursed myself. It had been Aereus’s magic clouding my mind. I didn’t hate these humans. I hated him. But the horseman of war provoked a will to dominate the weak.

The iron collars around their necks probably served to dampen some of their rage. But as humans, they wouldn’t be as vulnerable to fury as a feral fae.

Aereus shot me a sharp look as we walked. “Ruby. Is that a violent side I can sense?”

Put on a good show, Ruby. Always put on a good show.

I flashed him a sweet smile. “I think your powerful presence might affect me a little.”

He smirked. “Does the Dark Lord affect you?”

“Not the same way you do. You’re a god of war, the beginning and the end. War has shaped all of history, hasn’t it? The reason why angels fell to earth in the first place, the explanation for nearly every advancement in human history. War. Nothing is more powerful.”

Aereus’s approval was a low rumble that trembled through my gut. When he spoke again, his voice echoed off the high ceiling, off the marble columns surrounding us. “Tell me why you think Kratos might fall.” In the bright light of the hall, blood-red streaks shone in Aereus’s eyes. “He’s lived for nine hundred years without falling. Why now?”

I shrugged. “I think he’s developed a taste for succubi.”

“I can understand his temptation. And Johnny—he really attacked the Dark Lord?”

“I saw it happen. He looked crazed, like he’d lost the ability to speak. He’d been on a drunken bender, maybe poisoned himself with something. Mud and grass covered his body. There was something distinctly wrong with him.”

“It’s good that you came here to tell me. Only I can help you.”

Flatter his ego. “I don’t think Adonis wanted to admit it, but he was worried he couldn’t handle them on his own.”

“Fool.” Aereus snorted. “He’d never admit something like that.”

At the end of a glass-ceilinged hall, Aereus led me to an iron door. I balked at the sight of it. Touching the iron would drain my energy completely.

Aereus stroked his enormous fingertips over the iron surface, and his body glowed with a golden light. He whispered in the Angelic language.

Angelic was the language of magic—passed down from one generation to the next. In fact, it was the ancient language of fae and demons alike. I’d studied it, like I was supposed to, but I wasn’t fluent.

Adonis would be, though.

Mentally, I repeated each syllable as loudly as I could so Adonis would hear it.

When Aereus finished the spell, the iron door groaned open, revealing a dim, windowless room. Torches burned in some of the alcoves, and a long table stretched across the center of the stone floor. Weapons hung from brackets in the walls.

Across the table, stacks of papers lay scattered, and my gaze wandered over them. The writing looked like Angelic, which meant I had no idea what it said.

The moment I stepped inside, the door slid shut behind us, scraping over the floor. At this point, I was pretty relieved about the mark Adonis had left on my shoulder, because I’d never be able to get out of here on my own if I needed to. Even if I went feral and pulled the knife from under my dress, the iron door would stop me.

The single mercy of the closed iron door was that the murderous rage clouding my mind seemed to have dissipated a little. Apparently, Aereus’s magic mostly affected how I felt about weaker creatures, people I could dominate.

Aereus stood at the head of the table, staring at me. The torchlight wavered over his breastplate and his red-tipped wings.

I traced my fingertips over the wooden table in the center of the room. “This is thrilling.”

Violent energy pulsed from his body, and he took a step closer to me, his armor gleaming in the warm light. “Your little succubus body reacts to me, doesn’t it? You feel my power.”

I feel like I want to tear your eyes out, if that’s what you mean. “Yes, I can feel it.”

“That’s because you’re at war within yourself.”

He lumbered closer, then ran a meaty finger down the front of my chest. Inwardly, I shuddered, but I tried to hide my disgust.

“I sense your turmoil, Ruby. Deep in your chest.”

I stared at him, trying to control my own aggression. What the fuck was he talking about?

Aereus closed his eyes, breathing in the air. Then, he gripped my shoulders. “You want something, but you deny yourself. Guilt eats at you, doesn’t it? You left someone behind. What was his name?”

Stop intruding in my mind. I didn’t want this monster talking about Marcus, or thinking about Marcus. He had no right to invade my memories.

He gripped my shoulders tighter. “You’re scared of someone. Scared of a monster that you can’t get rid of.”

Now I had no idea what he was talking about, and I slipped away from his grasp. I schooled my features into a perfect mask of calm. “We’re not here to talk about me,” I said serenely. “I’m not interesting, Aereus. I want to know about you.”

That seemed to do the trick, and he arched a golden eyebrow at me. “Of course you do.”

I sat coyly on the edge of the table. “What happens in here?”

“Since the Great Nightmare has begun, I’ve started wars on three continents. I’ve inspired bloodlust across the globe. I’ve recreated the conquests of Alexander the Great, riding into Persia and India. For the past year, I’ve planned my bloodshed from here.”

He crossed to an alcove, where a chalice glowed with golden light, and he plucked it from its resting spot. “Do you know what this is?”

“Some sort of magical chalice?”

“Azazeyl, the fallen angel, drank from this the night before the angels expelled him from the heavens. The night before he fractured into seven gods. No angel was ever more powerful, more beautiful—no one ever more tormented.” A dark satisfaction dripped off his words.

“Amazing,” I breathed, eyes wide. “What other ancient treasures do you keep in this room?”