Chapter 25

25

BONES

T he derelict private runaway comes into view. It has my unwavering focus as I fly towards it, carried by a small tornado of black shadows and slivers of bones. On his motorcycle, engine roaring, Reaper keeps up with me.

It'd taken only a few minutes to pick up my mate's scent and begin my hunt--a few minutes still too long for me. My commander and club president never falters, staying with me without question as we pursue Sloan, Sydney, and the men who took them from us. The men who don't realize Hell is about to erupt around them.

Sloan's scent is stronger, fresher. The shadows carrying my form pulsate with my savage hunger.

"The rest of the club is seven minutes behind us." Reaper's voice is an arctic wind; desolate and deadly without mercy. Using his demonic voice is the only way he can ensure I bother to hear him.

The hanger gets closer by the heart beat. I will have Sloan in my arms soon. I will not fail her again.

"I won't wait for them." My voice is the rattle of bones. "I'll go in alone if I must."

"Never alone, brother," Reaper responds, voice whipping all around me.

We pull to a stop, Reaper slamming on his brakes and throwing up gravel. The engine idles as the bike teeters, the suspension still compensating for his sudden halt.

I'm not stopping. Not when Sloan is so close.

Reaper is transforming into his full demon form, his human shell shredding away as his true self is revealed. He's a mountain of a creature, a monstrous form made entirely of ethereal darkness. In his right hand is a gleaming, obsidian scythe. It's so dark that the only light I can see is a faint, bluish glow coming from within. He towers over me, garbed in a tattered black cloak that billows in an invisible wind. The hood is deep, a pool of black hiding any trace of a face. Horns like that of a great elk with dozens of prongs rise through the hood; the frozen skin hanging gruesomely as if the flesh shreds eternally.

Reaper isn't death. Death is Reaper.

His hooded head turns towards me, the black in place of his face making my tattered soul shudder. Even demons fear the death that Reaper delivers--a total unmaking.

I raise my boney chin, staring into that haunting abyss. "I don't plan to leave anyone alive," I tell him. "Not after they took my mate. I swore they'd never hurt her again."

His response is a frosty wind, in complete defiance to the scorching sun sinking towards the horizon. It's enough of an agreement for me. I turn back towards the building where Sloan and Sydney are being kept.

As one, we charge towards the airport hanger, falling into perfect formation. Centuries of fighting against warring factions in Hell means we fight flawlessly together. An archangel would be the only chance the Light Justicars could have against us, and they've nothing but imitations of true magic.

The hanger is yellowed and worn, nearly blending in with the tan desert surrounding it. The runway is cracked and dust covered and there are only two vehicles parked haphazardly near the open bay door.

As we make our approach, the humans finally catch sight of us. There's maybe a dozen justicars, easily spotted because of their insistence on wearing bright white. They're splitting into different groups, five of them taking cover behind the vehicles, a cargo van and a smaller crossover.

"They'll try to take off," Reaper's voice echoes between my ears.

It goes without saying that we will not allow that to happen. Throwing out my hands, shadows filled with bone shrapnel shoot forward. The bone shards pierce through the thick tires and punch through the sides of the vehicles with enough force to rock them both.

Shouts to hold come a moment before a hail of bullets. I cross my forearms in front of my face, slowing from my sprint, as my body is struck over and over again. It's instinct to mold the bones at my command over my body and harden.

"Demon bane," I snarl as the bullets are forced from me but not without a bitch of a sting for each one.

Demon bane might work on those of us summoned by mortals from our hellish world, but it'll take being buried in the stuff for it to begin to have an affect on free demons like us.

Reaper and I reach the men at the same time, and I'll give them credit. Even with their terror filling my nostrils, not a single one runs from us. They continue to fire, desperately hoping that the last few moments were wrong and that this time, we'll fall to the bullets. I step onto the hood of the gray crossover, the engine and frame crunching under my weight. With a rumbling growl, I take one of the men in hand, raising him above me even while his comrades continue to fire.

I meet his hate filled eyes.

Then I crush him and let his broken body drop to the broken concrete.

Screams from the left are cut off as a winter wind rushes by, the unforgettable gust created after Reaper swings his weapon.

The two men remaining, since Reaper's blow took two souls, fall back to the open hanger. I don't run after them, a satisfied growl rumbling along my bones. All it does is make me enjoy this hunt even more.

"Xavius."

Reaper's observation makes me stop, maybe a dozen feet away from the entrance. This close, I can practically taste my mate.

Father Xavius is once more garbed in his ostentatious white cassock, standing at the entrance of the hanger with pious righteousness. His hands are clasped in front of him, confident he cannot be touched.

Carefully, I send out slivers of bone to skate over the ground to feel for wards. I almost laugh when I encounter them. There's demon bane and salt to try to act as a physical barrier, my bones unable to cross them without being detected. But it's the magical barrier that reeks of angelic blessings.

The weight of Reaper's attention has me nodding subtly. The Light Justicars have underestimated us so severely, I could pity them. I don't though. By quiet agreement, we decide to indulge Xavius.

The man that steps up beside him makes me clench my fist.

"Hold." I don't need Reaper's quiet order, but he's not wrong to think my every instinct screams at me to rip Paul to shreds before sundering his soul so that he wanders the wastes of Hell for eternity.

"There is no need for this conflict to continue," Xavius calls out as if he's on the pulpit. "The issue between your kind and the Santi Pastori is settled. Now that our lost lamb has been returned, we will return home."

"You have more than one little lamb," Reaper responds, his power buffeting the building in waves. The angelically blessed wards ripple, turning visible with their oil slick sheen. Xavius smiles, clearly reassured that he's protected behind the erected ward. He holds out his hands as if he is blameless. "If another lamb seeks to shelter with my flock, who am I to deny her? Her soul is stricken. We can heal her until she is whole once more."

Fury paints my vision red, a roar almost ripping from me; but it's not my fury. It's Reaper's. I glance at him, but he looks as controlled the moment before. I wait, eager to bust through the paper thin wards and retrieve my mate. To my ire, Reaper bows his head, as if in agreement.

Quiet, I ask, "Sir?"

He ignores me and begins to turn away. "I wish to take away his victory before I devour his soul," his voice whispers into my ear. I appreciate my demonic form's inability to change expressions. As it is, I practically purr with smug satisfaction and turn away as if to follow my leader. Xavius' voice becomes muddled as he begins to issue orders but his arrogance is evident.

Then we hear it.

A scream that sinks into the depths of my being. My mate is furious and afraid.

"Odanatos!" Sydney's voice.

The world around us slows, the vibrancy fading away; primal fear, the fear that has existed since life began tells me to flee. Reaper's power swells around him, pulling life towards him with the unrelenting of a black hole. Then, in the very same instant, Reaper explodes.

He barrels down on the hanger, twice his previous size. His scythe is out, absorbing the light of the sun and casting the world in darkness around him. I race behind him, having to be careful that I don't get struck by his power.

The justicars shout. In the shadows, the world drained of color, I see Xavius turn back towards us. Paul, behind him, is running deeper into the hanger. The remainder of the guards rush to form a line of defense, both magical and physical.

Reaper swings his scythe, the angelic blessing offering no resistance or protection. The obsidian blade slices through the walls of the hanger in its arc before sweeping through the line of men before us.

Their souls are extinguished, the life vanishing from the bodies before gravity takes over. The bodies are whole, the only sign of death are their burned out eyes.

I move around him, rushing deeper into the hanger. Paul has nearly reached the base of the stairs leading up into the plane. With a jerk of my head, he's in my control and frozen mid step.

I force his bones to move, controlling him as my puppet, until he's jerkily lumbering towards me. His eyes are wide with terror and the sharp smell of piss hits me as he loses control of his bladder. He's trying to say something but with his jaw out of his control it's nothing but the sounds of a scared beast.

I have no desire to listen to his pleas. I close the distance between us, bending so my face is inches away from his. Let him see his death with unescapable clarity.

"For hurting Sloan, you will wander the bowels of the Hells for eternity. There will be no salvation for you." I punctuate each word by shattering one of his bones.

I open my mouth, distending my jaw to stretch my mouth open wider than possible. I snap forward, the crunch of me ripping through his flesh and spine ricochets through the hanger. Snarling, I rip his head from his body before spitting it out at Reaper's feet.

My blood is up. Sloan is close. I want to battle. I want to fuck. I want to devour my pretty little perfect prey. I throw my head back, bellowing a roar.

Like being sucked into a vacuum, a quiet gasp steals all of that away. In its place is a twisting chill. I lower my head and find Sloan's wide-eyed gaze where she stands at the entrance of the private plane.

I've lost her, now. How can she choose me after being witness to my brutality?

Except, instead of turning away from me, Sloan is racing down the stairs.

I watch, stupefied, as she sprints across the hanger without slowing. She leaps and my arms are around her in an instant.

The mating bond explodes and I'm surrounded by pinks and greens and reds. Colors of her love and joy, at her utter and complete acceptance.

"You came for me," Sloan murmurs against my neck.

I hold her tight as I wrap my power away, becoming smaller and smaller until I'm once more in my human form. Her blue-green eyes look up at me with more love than I ever thought possible. I cup her face with both hands.

"I will always come for you," I vow, pushing all of my adoration of her through our bond. "You are my world, my sun, the center of my universe. Without you, I am nothing. Nothing."

Tears spill down her cheeks and I wipe them away with my thumbs. Her bright smile shines through them, though. Her own hands slide up and into my hair, tugging me down towards her.

"I love you, too. Mate," Sloan declares against my lips before I can hold back any longer and capture her lips with my own.

Her taste is divine, the purest of all that is good in the world, and I will never have enough of her.

"Looks like we missed all the fun." Brute's dry and humorous voice breaks the moment. Not completely, though.

Mirth fills Sloan's eyes and I feel it all in my chest, filling the gaps in my soul in a way I never thought possible. This tiny woman, who survived her own hells, has made me whole again.

"So, do we get to keep the plane, or?" Heathen draws out the last word.

I laugh, unable to help it, at the question. My brothers. My mate. I've got everything I will ever need. I turn towards them, sweeping Sloan into my arms as I do. She giggles, the best sound in the world. "All right, you lazy fuckers. You get to clean up this mess. I've got a mate to take care of."