Chapter Three

Amir gasped, losing his footing, then fell backward, landing on his butt with an oomph. Several dark figures lumbered toward him, the very same who had annihilated everyone back at the store. Now that the creatures weren't rushing through the air or chasing him, he was able to discern more of what they looked like.

Their mass seemed solid—like enormous, hulking silhouettes—their forms appearing to be at least seven feet tall. They moved silently, but the air around them rustled angrily, as though they were creating their own windstorm with every step.

A scream caught in Amir's throat as they drew closer, their pupilless eyes now glowing red. His uncle had warned him that should the physical manifestation of evil come for the Seal, it would be the most terrifying he'd ever seen.

His uncle wasn't even close to describing how horrific these beings were.

One of the creatures broke from the rest, moving rapidly toward him. His instinct for survival kicked into gear, and he dashed to his feet, running away despite knowing his efforts were futile. But he'd taken on a sacred duty, and he would remain true to his promise until his last breath.

Amir screamed as a searing pain shot through him. What felt like a knife—or perhaps an enormous claw—sliced the back of his neck. He collapsed to the filthy ground, the small ring box containing the Seal jamming into his hip bone. His instinct had been to grab his front jeans pocket, but he stopped himself. Not that being careful would matter much once they tore him to pieces searching for the relic.

Through the hazy fog of his mind that was becoming dimmed by the excruciating pain, he wondered if the best course of action was to destroy the artifact. After all, if it no longer existed, it couldn't be used against humanity. God, why hadn't he thought to ask Khaled more questions? Instead of assuming his uncle was being too dramatic, that his trauma from escaping Iraq after it fell was what colored his perceptions, he should've learned everything his uncle knew.

Instead, he'd treated everything as if it were myth or lore, not ascribing any truth to his uncle's beliefs. His own learning centered around words instead of objects. He studied ancient languages in the hopes that he could someday work as an epigraphist, translating and identifying historical writings. Not that any of it mattered now.

He cringed, waiting for the final death blow from these monsters he'd never known existed before tonight.

I'm sorry I failed, Khaled.

Mayhem burst to life around him, and the death he'd expected didn't come. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rolled to his side, his jaw dropping at the bizarre battle taking place before him. Something else was fighting these creatures, something almost as monstrous.

He didn't dare waste this opportunity to get away, but his arms gave out as he tried to push himself up from the ground. Whatever wound he'd received from the shadowy creatures seemed to have rendered him as weak as a newborn. Perhaps there was a poison in their claws.

With every ounce of effort he still possessed, Amir dragged himself toward the brick wall that formed the back of the buildings lining the alley, wedging himself between that and a dumpster. Flimsy protection but the best he could do under the circumstances. With a shaky hand, he reached for the wound on his shoulder. The edges of the cuts were like fire, and when he drew his hand away, his fingers were sticky with blood.

Amir rested his head against the grimy bricks, his breathing coming in shallow pants. The cacophony of the battle continued to rage, the bellowing growls and unholy shrieks echoing through the alley. He took a chance and peeked around the edge of the container, watching in disbelief as two stone-gray beings that looked remarkably like gargoyles fought the massive creatures.

But these new creatures weren't exactly like the stone carvings on cathedrals and castles. While they retained the essence of the historic statues, these beings were alive, their faces more human-like—despite the snarling expressions, fanged teeth and pointed ears.

Well over six feet and with muscles for days, they appeared even more gigantic because of their enormous, leather-like wings fanning out as they fought, the spiked joints of the appendages inflicting harm to their opponents as much as their tails. Those were as long as their bodies were and featured a knot at the end, which they were using against their opponents like a club.

In contrast to the creatures" red glowing eyes, their eyes blazed with an amber fire. However, the one thing both beings had in common was the dagger-like claws they used to slash and pierce their foes. Other-worldly shrieks and cries filled the air as claws sliced hardened flesh or tails swiped through the air to bash the heads of their opponents.

The sounds of battle were so ear-piercing that Amir couldn't believe there wasn't a huge crowd around them. A dumpster across from him was hurled by the evil creature at one of the gargoyles. He easily deflected the large metal container with a massive wing, flinging it against the wall opposite him where it was crushed, trashbags spewing everywhere.

The racket was so terrifying that everyone in the neighborhood must be staying away. The cops would surely be arriving soon, and maybe that would allow him the chance to escape. But as weak and in pain as he was, he wasn't sure he'd survive long enough for them to appear.

Amir cried out, drawing his knees to his chin as one of the shadow figures landed in a heap less than two feet from him. The thing was like a mound of blackness and, thankfully, seemed to be dead. He squinted his eyes as he stared at the blob, finally beginning to see an outline of what it was supposed to be.

The dead creature no longer seemed without form. Hills and valleys of the creature became the curve of an arm or the broadness of a chest. Wait. He squinted some more. It was almost impossible to tell from the weak glow coming from the streetlights, but the thing appeared to be rather gargoyle-like, too.

The effects of whatever poison was in his system were becoming more pronounced, his head feeling too heavy on his body as if it might simply snap off and roll away. The ruckus around him seemed to be dwindling until he realized it had all but stopped. He idly mused that it must be a busy night in LA for there not to be any police presence yet.

Right before succumbing to unconsciousness, a gasp sounded from above him. He lifted his gaze and was met with the most bizarre sight yet of an epically bizarre night. One of the stone-gray gargoyles was morphing into a human. A very handsome, hunky, man-candy human.

He was clearly hallucinating, no doubt about it. But right before he let the darkness envelop him, the GQ model spoke.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Dante stared at the small human curled up against the wall, clutching a bag to his chest. He had no idea which holy relic this kid had managed to procure, but he hoped that it was still on him. He'd hate to think he'd just gone through a tail and claw beatdown over a shitty backpack.

However, that wasn't what had his stomach tied in knots and his brain on overload. His dick was hard as nails as if he hadn't fought for his life mere seconds before.

"What's your problem?"

Mal brushed the dirt off his pants, then started finger-combing his short waves as if he were getting ready for a photo shoot. Dante tucked his black T-shirt back into his jeans and verified it wasn't too damaged from the fight.

Thankfully, gargoyles didn't rip through their clothes the way shifters did. Who had time for that nonsense, constantly replacing wardrobes? Being part of the Divine Spark's crew did have a few benefits—one of them being instant materialization.

Dante licked his lips then dragged his palm over his mouth, still overcome with disbelief. He couldn't take his eyes off his… Shit. This was his fated mate? He gritted his teeth as he imagined what a fucking laugh Michael must be having at his expense right now.

"Well?" Mal had his arms crossed and was regarding him with pursed lips. "You planning on answering me, or are you just going to stare at that tiny human as if he were the most magical…" Mal's eyes went wide before he burst into laughter. "Oh…oh, this is too perfect. That's your fated mate? You think Michael knew?"

Dante sneered. "Of course, that fucker knew. He thinks he's so hilarious."

Mal snorted. "It is pretty funny."

Dante balled his fists. "No, it isn't. It's a dirty, rotten trick."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Mal shook his head. "Everyone else is counting the days until they meet their Fated One, then there's your surly ass bitching because this cutie-pie has been handed to you."

"That's everyone else." Dante threw his hands in the air. "I don't have time for this bullshit. Clearly, he has a relic, right? There will probably be more rogues coming around, trying to sniff it out. I need to focus on what's important, and nothing is more important than that."

"More important than the Divine Spark's plan?" Mal regarded him with barely concealed anger.

Dante huffed. "This is the plan. Kill rogues. Protect relics. Rinse and repeat."

Mal planted his hands on his hips yet again. "Except for the part where it's also your duty to replenish the ranks. I'm honestly surprised your mate hasn't shown up much sooner, seeing as you surpassed your kill quota decades ago." Mal tilted his head. "Huh. It never occurred to me, since I'm so oblivious to the boundaries of time, that maybe it simply means he hadn't been born yet."

"Just my luck," Dante grumbled. "I was hoping I had another couple of centuries left to hunt and kill before I got saddled with a family. Fuck."

Mal punched his shoulder, and it wasn't even close to being a friendly bro punch. "You're a complete dickhole, you know that? I get it, maiming and killing is awesome. But your mate? Having a family of your own? How can you not be overjoyed right now?"

"Overjoyed? Really? Have you ever met me before? Ever witnessed me being overjoyed in all the millenniums you've known me?"

Mal poked him in the chest with one finger. Hard. "Exactly my point. Your grumpy ass needs to lighten up."

Dante gazed down at his mate again. He couldn't really see him that well, but not because of the dark. A gargoyle"s night vision was legendary. However, with him in a fetal position and his black, curly hair tousled all around his face, he was mostly hidden from view.

Dante tensed, fear slicing through him as he sensed the life force leaving his mate's body. His tiny mate might possess angelic blood, but the full strength that gave him eternal life wouldn't activate until they'd mated. This frail human wouldn't stand a chance unless he got help fast.

Without thinking, he scooped up the young man in his arms then whipped around to face a startled Mal. "I have to go. You'll need to be the one who stays to supervise the scene."

Mal's brow creased. "I'll make sure no traces are left behind after they disintegrate. Is he going to be okay?"

Dante swallowed hard. "I don't know. But he needs the touch of Ezekiel now. Please tell me the Reaper isn't on another continent."

"Count yourself lucky that our faction traveled here together when I followed the scent of your latest kill to find you." Mal furrowed his brow. "The location of the lair is the same, but I can't guarantee that Ezekiel's not out on a hunt right now."

His mate moaned, and Dante's gut tightened. "I don't use those ridiculous phones the humans carry around. But is that something we're using to communicate with now?"

Mal chuckled. "Not at all. Some things haven't changed." He smirked. "I simply stopped sending you my telepathic thoughts because you never answered. I'll send out a message and make sure he's there or at least on his way."

Dante growled. "Well, he'd better be."

As Dante morphed then shot into the sky, he did something he'd avoided for millenniums. But he was desperate, and he didn't possess the power to fix his mate.

"Please, Divine Spark, hear me. If you save him, I'll…" Dante couldn't believe he was about to utter the words. "I'll follow your plan."