Chapter 33

CHAPTER33

We step through the watery film separating the realms and into the dimly lit art room that smells of paint and pastels, canvas and clay. Distant flames flicker on the other side of the window, casting the space in a warm orange glow that feels discordant with the shouting and the clank of weapons that come from the city streets. We say nothing as we glance at one another and head to the nearest window.

We’re one story above the road, which appears quiet at first. The fighting must be a few streets over, but it sounds vicious. We watch in silence, and it isn’t long until a few souls rush by, glancing over their shoulders as they run. They disappear out of view as a small contingent of five Nephilim march down the street, their faces covered with golden masks, obsidian axes clutched in their hands. An angel lands in front of them, halting their progress as she engages them in a short-lived fight. The anunnaki holds her own for a few minutes until of the Nephilim strikes her ribs with an ax, another hitting the joint of her wing as she falls, feathers scattering on the cobblestones like bloodied blades. A third Nephilim soldier withdraws a small ampule from a pouch at his side and lights it before throwing it down on the injured angel. When they seem satisfied that the anunnaki will not put out the flames in her writhing anguish, they walk away, leaving her to scream and die in solitude.

“Christ,” I whisper, laying a hand on my armored chest as my heart thunders. “That was fast.”

“Five against one.”

“Still…”

“They’ve brought hellfire,” Eryx says, and Ashen nods. “I guess they’re not counting on the demons coming to our aid. They must know you can withstand it.”

“We shouldn’t count on the Shadow Realm coming either,” I reply. “We need to assume it will just be the three of us until at least Cole and Ediye can make it. That might be all we’ve got.”

Eryx gives a grim nod. “We’d better go. If the Nephilim are here in Esagila, it’s likely they’re getting closer to the ziggurat. We’ve got some distance to cover to get there.”

We nod to one another and follow Eryx out of the room and down a dark hallway that leads to a staircase. The foyer is empty and undisturbed, as though war doesn’t already rage just outside the tall double doors. We crack one of them open just enough that I can listen for footsteps on the other side. When I’m sure there’s no one there, we creep out onto the street.

Flames glow against the night sky over the buildings behind us as we jog down the street, keeping close to the buildings and darting into alleyways to communicate in whispers. On occasion, I can see the top of the ziggurat looming ahead, its golden point reflecting the light of the burning city like a beacon. Eryx was right, we have a lot of streets to cover before we make it there.

And it doesn’t take long for us to run into trouble.

We round a corner and are clinging to the edge of the street as a slew of arrows rains down on us, their whistling trajectories the only warning for us to find cover. Eryx is quick to move and shelters all three of us with his wings. Arrows clink on his feathers and fall to the road, and the onslaught is just starting to slow when I hear three pairs of footsteps running toward us. Ashen pushes his way free of Eryx’s wings before the arrows have stopped and meets the first Nephilim with his sword, cutting him down with a slice across the throat. The enemy hasn’t even hit the ground when Ashen is on the next one, plunging his sword through the aggressor’s armor and into his heart. Smoke erupts from Ashen’s shoulders as he fends off the third Nephilim, and I push myself up to rush forward, dropping into a slide beneath the cover of Ashen’s wings to slice the Nephilim’s inner thigh. It cuts through the artery and brings him to the ground in a rush of blood. I thrust my sword into the Nephilim’s back and cut my way up as I stand, his bones snapping like a beat to the melody of my vicious hiss.

“Well,” I say as Eryx joins us. “I guess they might know we’re here now.”

Eryx gives a weak smile and we start running before the arrows begin to fall. We make it another two blocks before we engage in battle again, this time with four Nephilim, though we’re joined by an injured angel who manages to take down two on his own. We keep pushing onward, gaining and losing more angels as we go, encountering larger groups of Nephilim soldiers as we gradually inch our way closer to the ziggurat.

It takes at least two hours of fighting to make it just four blocks closer.

Even despite the slow fighting, the blood, the death, the screaming and fire that surrounds us, it isn’t until we turn onto a wide, main road that when I truly believe we might be fucked. Other side streets and alleyways are barricaded, whether by the enemy or the angels I don’t know, but there is no other way but to pass into the carnage that’s erupted on the road marked with a simple sign. Spes Aeterna.

Everlasting Hope.

But there is no hope here.

The road is slick with blood. Nephilim fight with savage grace against the angels trying to hold them off from progressing closer to the ziggurat, and even through the flames I can see that this is a straight line to the structure. The dead are everywhere, enemies, anunnaki, even souls, their weapons still clutched in their hands, their unseeing eyes unblinking. We’re sucked into the battle as though swept away by an unforgiving, relentless tide. There are bursts of flame as incendiaries are thrown from Nephilim hiding in shadows or crouching on the tops of buildings. Angels fly overhead, trying to subdue them, some falling from the night sky as they’re struck down by balls of flame.

I fight forward through the chaos, the shining eye of the ziggurat like a lure in a raging sea. I kill and maim my way deeper into the street, inch by bloody inch. I lose sight of Ashen and Eryx, but we shout to one another to keep contact. Sometimes they’re closer, sometimes further away. Sometimes I hear them yell instructions to the other angels who battle at our side. All too often, I hear one of our new companions fall in the battle, the scent of sickly-sweet blood heating the debris on the cobblestones.

I end up stalled behind Ashen and Eryx as I get caught up between fire and fighting next to a little bakery. The scent of bread mingles with the death on the road. I cut down the Nephilim delaying my progress and my sword is still carving an arc through the air when a sudden heat warms my belly. For an instant shorter than a heartbeat, I remember the battle with Ashen when we first met, the warmth of his hand on my stomach as he pulled me from the fight.

All right, vampire?

The next instant, I’m gasping for breath, lying on the cobbles, my belly burning with heat. It’s not until instinct takes over and I’m patting down the flames that I realize I’ve been hit with an incendiary. A cry of panic escapes past my lips as memories of burning at the stake surge to the forefront of my mind. I manage to push them down as I extinguish the fire burning the accelerant that coats my heating armor, but my moment of distraction has cost me.

A Nephilim strides forward through the flames on the road. He swings a mace above his head. I can’t see his face behind his golden mask, but I know his eyes are fused to mine. And I know there’s no way I get out of his path in time.

He’s bringing the mace toward me when it suddenly slips from his hand. He lurches to a halt. A collar of glowing glyphs clamps around the Nephilim’s throat.

No, not a collar.

Tattoos.

My husband’s hand.

The enemy chokes a desperate breath. His feet lift from the ground. His mask is torn from his head and falls through the flame to the cobblestone road. Ashen’s face comes into view next to the man’s wide, bloodshot eyes, the tiny blood vessels within their white surface bursting from the pressure of the Reaper’s unrelenting grip.

“Mine,” Ashen growls into his ear.

Ashen’s fingers sink into his skin, his other hand clamping around the enemy’s chin. The Nephilim’s scream is lost in a gurgling rush. With a roar of rage and restitution, Ashen wrenches the man’s head backward and strips a section of his spine free, blood and torn flesh surging across the space between us, its thick heat dousing the nearest flame. He tosses the head aside with a wet thud, his other fist trembling around the bloodied column of bone.

A fleeting gasp of relief tumbles past my lips. “If we live through this, you are getting the blowjob of a lifetime,” I whisper, trying to swallow the tremor in my voice. Ashen’s snakeskin wings flare wide and he drops the spine, vertebrae snapping beneath his boot as he strides toward me. Fireballs burst around us and I curl into myself as I cover my head against the flames and sparks spilling heat from every direction.

“It’s all right, vampire. I’ve got you,” Ashen says, wrapping his arms around my shaking ribs. His wings drape over us like a fire blanket, a burning cannonball landing on one of their edges. He tightens his grip when I flinch and cry out, letting go only long enough to pat out the flames that crawl toward us beneath his wing.

“I can’t, Ashen.” Tears stream down the soot on my cheeks as the sound of raging fire mixes with the swell of villagers’ chanting voices as I burned a lifetime ago. Seared leather. Melting flesh. Singed hair and embers that eat skin. I can’t tell what’s real from what’s a terrible memory I can never run far enough from. “I can’t.”

“I know,” Ashen says as he presses me to his chest. His wing shudders as an arrow tears a hole through the snakeskin, pinning it to the road. “I promise, it will be okay. It’s hellfire, Lu. It will not hurt me. I will not let it harm you.”

No sooner do the words leave his lips than a blast of flame hits his back, heat and light rolling across his wings, brightening the edges of his scales. He takes the hit with little more than a grunt.

“Ashen—”

“Trust me,” he says, grasping my face between his stained hands, his eyes holding mine and not letting go. “The Shub Lugal are coming. Cyrus will not let us down.” My lower lip trembles despite how hard I try to keep from falling apart beneath the weight of my worst memories. Ashen’s eyes soften as they rake across my skin. “Do you know what Cyrus said, Lu?”

I shake my head between his hands.

“That no one deserved to lead the Shadow Realm more than you. That it had never felt like a place that could foster light until you came along.” Ashen leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips, brushing back the tears that still slide down my skin. “They will come,” he promises as he pulls away. “And I will keep you safe until they do.”

Time slows. I count every color in Ashen’s eyes, the copper seams, the crimson rings, the black flame. Sweat beads our brows in the heat. Tears dampen my lashes and Ashen wipes them across my skin. We breathe together, slow breaths like deep waves that fill my chest. The fire growing around us glows behind the curtain of Ashen’s wings, but in a strange twist of fate it shields us from the view of the archers in the distance. Silver arrows fall like rain through the flames, but most clatter across the stones.

Most.

Ashen’s wings take another hit. Then another. Two more arrows pin the soft black skin to the stone, smoke spreading between us to shield the damage from my view. Ashen’s shoulder drops toward me as an arrow strikes his back, blood rolling over his metal armor to drip on my cheek like a tear.

“Ashen—”

“Just a little longer.”

I grip Ashen’s hand in mine, pressing my forehead to his as he takes another hit. His jaw clamps shut around the pain and my heart cracks apart. “I love you, Ashen,” I say. Smoke fills my throat. “I will love you for every second of a thousand lifetimes.” I slide my hand free of Ashen’s, pressing my palm to his cheek. He leans into my touch before I pull it away, the confusion in his eyes shifting into awareness as my hand rises to his forehead.

“No, Lu—”

“It’s okay. You take care of me,” I say, laying my palm across his skin as I close my eyes and pull his mind into darkness, “and I take care of you.”

When I open my eyes, we’re standing in front of one another on the dance floor in Bit Akalum. I’m in the same white dress as the first time we came here, and Ashen is wearing his immaculate black suit. But this time, the space is all ours. There are no eyes filled flames of predatory desire to follow our every move. There are no hidden traps, no enemies with saccharine smiles that spill venomous revelations. No fangria or Rakomelo either, which is probably for the best. It’s just me and the Reaper, and the twinkling lights reflecting across the polished stone.

“Bit Akalum?” Ashen asks as his eyes take in the black crystal chandeliers and the candlelit tables. “Why here?”

I shrug, giving him a sly smile. “Why not? It’s where I first let myself really wish for what I wanted with you.” Ashen’s brow flickers and I reach out, pulling his hand with me. “Actually no. Not here. More like here.” I tug the Reaper into place and kick one of his feet back a step, shifting his shoulders as he grins. “Perfect. Right here.”

I place Ashen’s hand to rest behind my back and grasp his other one to hold it aloft, arching backward and pulling him with me until he dips me toward the floor. “Do you trust me, vampire?” he asks, catching the memory from those months past that seem so long ago.

“I trust you, husband,” I whisper. The smile shared between us is slow to unfurl its bittersweet bloom. Ashen curls my hand against the beat of his heart as he keeps my weight hovering above the floor, my eyes only drifting closed when his lips press to mine.

“Dance with me, vampire,” Ashen whispers when he pulls away.

“Took you long enough to ask.”

Ashen gives me a wicked grin. In a blink, I’m whirled from inches above the floor to high in the air, my feet off the ground as Ashen presses my body to his and spins. My laugh is a riot of sound in the still space of our shared illusion. Music swells around us from a source unseen and Ashen sets me on my feet only long enough to take my hand and lead us into the steps of an elegant Viennese waltz. Each spin is more dramatic than the last, every turn more sweeping, every lift a little more risky, all to make me laugh. We glide across the floor and I start to sing.

I’ve always sung someone else’s song. But this time I sing my own. My song for Ashen.

When I couldn’t trust, you changed it

When I needed love, you gave it

When I broke my heart, you saved it

Even your darkest stars still shine

“Lu,” he whispers. Just my name, and yet it contains everything he feels. Ashen presses a kiss to my neck as our steps flow unbroken over the polished floor.

If I need the stars, yours guide me

If your love’s a light, it blinds me

If I’m ever lost, you find me

Even your darkest stars still shine

Ashen holds me closer as the edges of the room flicker. His breath heats my neck. His scent of unsmoked tobacco lingers in the air.

In every breath, I want you

In every wish, I see you

In every life, I’ll love you

Even your darkest stars still shine

Crashing metal echoes through the empty space. Candles blow out. Chandeliers flicker and dim. The music fades.

“Over here,” a voice calls. “I hear her.”

I blink in the darkness. A heavy weight lifts from my lungs and I suck in a breath. A fireball streaks across the sky high above us, but a wave of arrows answers back.

“They’re alive,” the voice calls out. Cyrus. I look down the length of my body, my armor and leathers covered with soot and streaks of blood. Cyrus braces Ashen’s shoulders as he helps him to sit. Three arrows jut from the Reaper’s back. His torn wings are draped behind him beneath a thin cascade of smoke. But Ashen’s eyes are bright, fused to mine with a weary smile.

“Your grace,” a man says. A large hand comes into view, waiting to help me up. “We heard you.”

“Pyrrhus?..” I ask. His brow is drawn but he gives me a tight smile, a decisive nod. I place my hand in his and he draws me to my feet.

When he’s sure I can stand steady, Pyrrhus lets go. His hand folds into a fist over his heart and he bows his head.

“We have come to fight for our Queen,” he says. His smile lights the fire in his eyes as he nods toward the street.

It’s not just the elite Shub Lugal soldiers standing at attention in their matte black armor. It’s the regular infantry too. It’s the Reapers of the Council. It’s demons from every house, ones I don’t remember seeing before, newly resurrected souls who look a little confused, but determined nonetheless. It’s even the hyenas, their mottled fur smoking as they stand among the army of the Shadow Realm.

Imani steps forward, my katana held in an offering on her open palms. She smiles as a long lost, familiar soldier steps into view. The vibrant gleam in his eye shines with a new fire. “Hail Queen Leucosia,” Vlad the Impaler booms with his enchanting voice.

I take the sword and swallow a thick knot as the Shadow Realm responds.

Hail Queen Leucosia.

Cyrus pulls the last of the arrows from my husband’s back and helps him to his feet, pressing the hilt of his sword into his hand. Ashen lays his palm on Cyrus’s shoulder but draws his second in command into a back-slapping hug. That knot in my throat becomes a ball of spikes and tears threaten to spill across my dirty cheeks. When Ashen lets go and joins my side, we stand for a single moment of silence on the battlefield.

“Shadow Realm,” I say when I turn to the sea of flames that watch me. I take a step toward them. “We will protect the souls who reside here. We will fight with our brothers and sisters who defend them. We will get that fucking stone. And for any traitors and Nephilim who remain…”

My gaze leaves the group, glowing deep crimson as it flows the length of my katana. When I look back to my army, I give them a smile with an edge as wicked as the blade in my hand.

“For those who remain, we will deliver the justice of demons. And the only mercy we will give is eternal death.”