Chapter Ten
Ezekiel shot into the sky like a rocket, his only hope to keep from being mauled to pieces by the traitorous Lysander, Raziel, and the shadow creatures. The moment he realized he’d been fooled, he’d sent out a cry for help. However, he couldn’t be sure it was received. If the rogue demons had discovered how to mimic a Slayer, then perhaps they had other hidden abilities he wasn’t aware of.
The frigid wind skated across the thick, leathery skin of his wings as he rose higher into the night sky. Ezekiel's heart pounded, adrenaline surging through his veins as he desperately sought an escape route. Below him, the shadow gargoyles swarmed, their inky forms blending with the darkness as they pursued him relentlessly.
Lysander’s mocking laughter echoed through the air. “You can't outrun us forever, Ezekiel! You forget, I know all your tricks!”
Ezekiel gritted his teeth, pushing himself to fly faster. His mind raced, trying to formulate a plan. He couldn't lead these creatures back to the lair, back to Archer. Even if Lysander knew the location of the lair, he refused to go anywhere near the cathedral where his precious mate was waiting for him. The thought of Archer in danger shot a wave of terror through his body.
A searing pain tore through his left wing. Ezekiel cried out, nearly plummeting as he struggled to maintain altitude. He glanced back to see a shadow gargoyle’s claws embedded in his wing membrane, the creature’s weight dragging him down.
With a snarl, Ezekiel twisted mid-air, using the momentum to swing the shadow gargoyle off his wing. The creature screeched as it plummeted, its claws ripping through delicate membrane as it fell. Ezekiel hissed in pain, his injured wing struggling to keep him aloft.
He dove toward the harbor, weaving between cargo cranes and shipping containers. The maze-like layout of the port might give him a chance to lose his pursuers. As he zigzagged through the industrial landscape, Ezekiel’s mind raced. How long had Lysander been playing them? What was Raziel’s endgame?
A flash of movement to his right caught his attention. Ezekiel barely had time to bank left before Lysander barreled past him, narrowly missing a collision.
"You're slowing down, you old fool! Centuries of air battles, and this is the best you can do?”
Ezekiel's jaw clenched as he banked sharply, narrowly avoiding Lysander's outstretched claws. The traitor's taunts rang in his ears, fueling within him a mix of rage and desperation. He couldn't let Lysander win—not when Archer and their unborn child were waiting for him.
With a burst of speed, Ezekiel shot upward, climbing higher into the night sky. His injured wing screamed in protest, but he pushed through the pain. He needed to find an advantage, something to turn the tide.
As he ascended, an idea struck him. The harbor cranes—their towering structures might provide cover and a chance to ambush his pursuers. Ezekiel tucked his wings and dove, plummeting toward the nearest crane. At the last second, he snapped his wings open, using the updraft to slingshot himself around the massive structure.
Lysander’s frustrated roar bellowed behind him as he weaved between the crane’s steel beams. Ezekiel's heart pounded as he pushed his injured wing to its limit, ignoring the searing pain with each beat. He had to stay ahead, had to find a way to turn the tables.
Suddenly, a dark shape materialized in front of him. Ezekiel barely had time to register Raziel’s smirking face before the demon’s fist connected with his jaw. The impact sent him spiraling, crashing into a stack of shipping containers with a bone-jarring thud. Ezekiel grunted, the wind knocked from his lungs as he tumbled to the ground.
Lysander landed nearby, his dark wings folding behind him. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,”
he sneered. “The great healer, brought low by his own predictability. What’s wrong, can’t heal yourself?”
Lysander and Raziel fell into peals of laughter, the sound like gears grinding.
Raziel’s lips pulled back in another hideous grin. “Once the Shadow Slayers’ great healer is dispatched, we’ll dispose of the doctor, and then who will they turn to?”
Lysander bent down, staring directly into Ezekiel’s eyes as he responded to Raziel. “No one. We can pick them off one by one because no one will be left who can fix them.”
Ezekiel struggled to his feet, his body screaming in protest. The tang of blood was on his tongue, trickling from a gash above his eye. His injured wing hung limply at his side, useless.
“Why?”
Ezekiel gritted out, buying time as he assessed his options. “Why turn against us, Lysander? You begged us to take you back.”
Lysander sneered at him. “Yeah, you idiot. How else could we pull this off?”
He threw his hands in the air as if he were a prizefighter celebrating a win. “I couldn’t very well use this super sweet cloning skill Raziel taught me unless I wormed my way back in, now could I?”
Raziel’s laughter filled the air again, the wretched sound boring into his skull. His body was rapidly weakening and he doubted he could hold on much longer. The horrible truth was that Lysander was right about one thing: he wasn’t as skilled a warrior as the others. Not when he spent most of his time healing all their casualties.
The demon’s plan had been smart. Instead of constantly battling a myriad of Slayers and losing ranks in the process, eliminate the one who saves the fighters. Take out one, and the rest will eventually fall.
Ezekiel’s stomach roiled. Or two. If he didn’t survive, they would go after Archer next.
With a last gasp of energy, Ezekiel whirled away from his attackers and launched himself off the edge of the shipping container. His injured wing screamed in protest as he glided awkwardly toward the water, but he couldn’t think about the pain. If he could only make it to the harbor...
“Oh no you don't!”
Lysander snarled, diving after him.
Ezekiel hit the water with a splash, plunging beneath the dark waves. The icy shock jolted through his system, but he forced himself deeper, using his good wing to propel himself forward. His lungs burned for air, but he knew surfacing too soon would mean certain death.
From above, the muffled sounds of Lysander and Raziel's frustrated shouts reached his ears. Ezekiel allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. They may be formidable in the air, but underwater, he had the advantage. As a healer, he'd developed the ability to hold his breath for extended periods, a skill that had saved many a drowning Slayer over the centuries.
He swam deeper, letting the murky harbor waters conceal him from his pursuers. Ezekiel’s mind raced as he formulated a plan. He needed to get back to the lair, to warn the others about Lysander's betrayal and protect Archer.
Archer. The thought of his mate sent a surge of determination through his battered body. He couldn't fail, not when they had so much to live for. Their future, their child...
A shadow passed overhead, and Ezekiel whirled around to prepare for an enemy attack. He peered up through the murky water, barely making out Cassiel’s form circling above. His lungs burned for air, but could he trust this was actually Cassiel this time? Or was Lysander mimicking her again to draw him out?
Ezekiel's lungs screamed for air. He had no choice but to chance that the gargoyle above him was his friend, the real Cassiel. He angled upward, propelling himself toward the surface with powerful strokes. As he broke through the water's surface, he gasped, gulping in precious oxygen.
Cassiel spotted him, swooping down low over the water. “Ezekiel! Thank the Divine Spark you're alive!”
She circled above him, her amber eyes scanning the area. “We need to get you out of here. Can you fly?”
Ezekiel shook his head, wincing as he tried to move his injured wing. “No, it's too damaged. Lysander—”
“I know.”
Cassiel gritted her teeth. “What a fucking piece of shit. We'll deal with him later. Right now, we need to get you to safety.”
As if summoned by her words, a dark shape plummeted from the sky. Lysander hit the water with a massive splash, sending waves rippling outward.
“Go!”
shouted Cassiel, but he refused to abandon her. Slayers - true Slayers - fought for each other no matter what. He might not have the use of one wing, but he still had the other one along with his claws, fangs and sledgehammer-like tail.
As Ezekiel surged through the water, Cassiel dove down to engage Lysander. The two gargoyles collided in a flurry of claws and wings, churning the dark harbor waters around them. Ezekiel's heart raced as he swam toward the battle, determined to aid his friend despite his injuries.
Lysander’s mocking laughter rang out over the sounds of splashing and snarling. “Two against one? How unsporting of you, Cassiel. I thought Shadow Slayers prided themselves on honor.”
“As if you knew what honor was, you pathetic fuckwad.”
Cassiel raked her claws across Lysander’s chest. “Go to hell where you belong and stay there!”
Ezekiel reached the fray, his good wing helping him maneuver through the choppy waves. He lashed out with his tail, catching Lysander off guard and knocking him back. The traitor splashed and sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of seawater. He whirled upward, a spray of water shedding from his wings. He hovered over them, batting his wings, tail flicking, his claws wiggling impatiently.
“You'll pay for that, Reaper,”
Lysander snarled.
He lunged toward Ezekiel, claws extended. Cassiel intercepted, grappling with Lysander mid-air. They tumbled back into the water with a massive splash. Ezekiel's heart raced as he searched the churning surface for any sign of his friend.
Suddenly, Cassiel burst from the waves, dragging a thrashing Lysander by the throat. Her face was a mask of brutal fury as she ascended, wings beating powerfully.
“Ezekiel, get to shore! Malachi is on his way!”
she yelled. “I'll handle this filth.”
He hesitated, torn between helping Cassiel and following her orders. His injured wing throbbed painfully, reminding him of his limited usefulness. With a frustrated growl, he turned and began swimming toward the nearest dock, his good wing and powerful tail propelling him through the icy water.
Behind him, the sounds of Cassiel and Lysander’s battle filled the air - snarls and shrieks, the clash of claws, and the whoosh of wings. Ezekiel clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to look back. He had to trust in Cassiel's abilities and focus on reaching safety.
As he neared the dock, a familiar figure appeared at the edge. Malachi's imposing form stood silhouetted against the night sky, his wings spread wide.
“Ezekiel!”
He called out. “Over here!”
With a final burst of energy, he surged forward, reaching the dock's edge. Malachi's strong hands grasped his arms, hauling him out of the bay. Ezekiel collapsed onto the weathered wooden planks, gasping for breath as his body shook from pain and exhaustion.
“By the Divine Spark, what happened?”
Malachi demanded, his eyes widening as he took in Ezekiel's battered state.
Ezekiel struggled to sit up, wincing as pain lanced through his injured wing. “Lysander... he's a traitor. Working with Raziel. They lured me out here...”
He broke off, coughing up briny seawater.
“Fuck me.”
Malachi gritted out. “We got here as fast as we could. Fortunately, we were already on our way back from Shasta to meet with you and Archer, so we were fairly close.”
A stab of worry hit him at the mention of Archer. “My mate, he’s safe?”
Malachi smiled. “Perfectly safe. But Darius told me he’s being a pain in the ass about knowing how you are. Should we return you to him so he leaves poor Darius alone?”
Ezekiel drew his eyebrows together. “What about Raziel, the others…”
He tried to push himself up from the ground but failed miserably. He groaned. “We have to kill them first.”
Malachi shook his head as he reached down to help Ezekiel stand. “You’re a mess.”
He draped Ezekiel’s arm over his shoulder. “I know you can’t morph all the way back to your human form because of your jacked-up wing, so this should be interesting getting you back to the lair. Too bad it’s not Halloween right now.”
“Raziel…”
“Fuck, Zeke. Do you have a hard-on for the freak?”
Malachi snorted. “Don’t worry about him. The Slayers with me ripped the shadow gargoyles to shreds. You might’ve noticed that demons aren’t known for being team players. Once our boy Raz saw how the wind was blowing, he disappeared in a poof of sulfur.”
Ezekiel chuckled and immediately regretted it. He must’ve cracked a rib or two. Before he could respond to Malachi, Cassiel landed on the planks with a thunk.
“Hey fellas, how’s it hanging?”
she curled up her top lip and pointed at her mouth. “Do I have any gargoyle between my teeth?”
Malachi and Ezekiel burst into laughter, but once again, Ezekiel was filled with regret. “Ow, ow, ow. No more joking. I can’t take it.”
“What’s the matter, sport? Rough night out with the boys?”
Ezekiel rolled his eyes. Once she got going, she’d never stop.
“Malachi, take me home. I need to see my angel.”
Clinging to Malachi as they flew back to the lair, his only thought was of Archer. The pain from his injuries faded to a dull throb as anticipation built in his chest. He needed to see his mate, to hold him and assure himself that the father of his unborn child was safe.