Chapter Twenty-Three
As the SUV Cain rode in whizzed past the spot where Wynter had fought the keepers, he noticed that the jeep was gone. Which meant she’d already joined the sea of speeding vehicles. He hoped she wasn’t in the front, but he wouldn’t put it past her to lead the charge.
There was no way to creep up on the town. Not when there was nothing but prairie land up-ahead, giving them no cover, making it easy for the people in the watchtowers to spot them. As such, they’d all chosen to drive toward Aeon at top speed, using the vehicles as shields of a sort.
Despite the rumbling of so many engines, Cain heard bells ring in the near distance. “The alarm has been sounded.”
Sitting beside him in the rear passenger row, Azazel nodded. “I wonder if they’ll guess it’s our people who’s coming at them.”
“Whatever the case, they won’t guess that any Ancients are part of the army. Our presence will take them off-guard for certain.”
Azazel grinned. “Which makes this all the more fun.”
Cain studied the curtain stone wall—one covered in rotting moss, thanks to Wynter—that shielded the town. It wouldn’t be necessary to take it down in order to enter Aeon. Which was good, because it was solid enough to withstand blasts of power and even the impact of crashing vehicles. The grand wooden doors in that arched opening, however? Not so much.
“Arrows,”
said the aide in the driver’s seat.
A thin wave of flaming arrows flew through the sky and rained down on them. They bounced off metal and windows, harmlessly hitting the ground courtesy of the protective spells cast by the many magick users.
Everyone sped on. And so more arrows came. And more. And more. Then came bullets and blasts of magick, all of which did no damage to the vehicles.
Cain sometimes heard the screech of metal grinding against metal coming from somewhere outside, suggesting that maybe riders of bikes had been hit and subsequently lost their balance. But most everyone continued making a direct beeline for Aeon.
And they were almost there.
Near the entrance, a harsh wind abruptly built in the air and then came racing toward the vehicles.
Cain pushed open the roof hatch and released a surge of power. It crashed into the wind and turned it into a spinning vortex. A vortex that soon shifted into a horrendously large swarm of angry wasps. Wasps that then zoomed toward Aeon.
“The keepers are abandoning the watchtowers,”
said the aide riding shotgun, a smile in his voice. “Shit, they can’t move fast enough.”
Cain returned to his seat. “It won’t matter. Those were killer wasps. Their stings are fatal.”
Azazel looked at him. “After that show of power, they’ll know the Ancients are leading the army—or at least suspect it. Adam won’t want to believe it.”
Cain shrugged. “They’d have learned it soon enough anyway, because we’re almost there.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. That wind would have tossed the vehicles here, there, and everywhere. We can’t afford to lose people.”
“Here comes the first line of defense,”
said the driver as the wooden doors burst open and troops hurried out of it.
The troops didn’t charge at the vehicles. They formed three lines and gathered in front of the entrance, guns raised or orbs of magick in hand. They didn’t attack, though. Cain suspected they were waiting for the invaders to exit the vehicles and expose themselves.
Close to the entrance now, the vehicles began to slow . . . with the exception of the cars in front. They charged right at the troops, mowing many down but stopping short of the curtain wall.
Mere moments after all the vehicles came to a halt, passengers were hopping out and then racing toward the troops. There were roars of fire, crackles of magick, whooshes of power, and the thunder of bullets. The troops fell quickly, ridiculously overpowered.
Abaddon led the charge as everyone poured through the arch or—in the cases of dragons and many avian shapeshifters—cleared the curtain wall. From outside it, Cain heard battle cries, the firing of yet more bullets, and the roaring of animal shifters . . . which meant many troops awaited them. The arch was only wide enough for five people at a time to barrel through the gap, which meant those in front were going to meet with the resistance without much backup initially. He hoped it didn’t mean they were taken down.
When Cain was finally inside the walls, he almost rocked back on his heels. The once lush landscape was a sad sight. Trees were black and gnarled. Grass was brown and covered in fungi. Shrubs were leafless and thin. Ponds had dried up or become swampy bogs.
Excellent work, pretty witch.
Turning his attention to the battle, Cain resisted the urge to seek out Wynter. They’d already agreed that it didn’t make sense for them to fight alongside each other. The Aeons and their troops would most want to capture Cain and Wynter, so remaining separate would force the bastards to divide their attention. She had her coven, not to mention Kali. They’d do what they could to protect her.
The residents of Devil’s Cradle flooded every corner of the town. The Ancients walked among them, fighting and killing even as they made their way to the entrance of the underground city.
Cain hurled balls of power, smiling in grim satisfaction as they cleaved into people and buildings. The other Ancients made similar moves, wreaking havoc. They weren’t only there to kill. They were there to destroy the town itself. So they demolished houses, knocked down buildings, upturned vehicles, and set fire to the rotting trees and underbrush.
Most troops refused to get close to him, striking from afar. Cain took them out easily—they stood no chance against Ancients, though they might have done if Aeons were among them. Those bastards were nowhere to be seen. They’d no doubt sought sanctuary beneath ground, just as he and the other Ancients had anticipated.
Cries of pain filled the air again and again as Cain’s people attacked with a fury. Berserkers charged. Lycans and shifters pounced. Dragons breathed wind, fire, and ice. Fey, witches, and mages took troops down with magick and weapons. Vampires, demons, and other preternaturals fought with both their bodies and their combative abilities.
The people of the town put up a strong resistance. Cain caught glimpses of Devil’s Cradle residents being knocked to the ground by shifters, slayed by weaponry, and assaulted hard with magick. He intercepted where he could, saving some but sadly not all.
It was easy to tell that the residents were shocked to find their home under siege. It had likely never occurred to the Aeons that it would actually happen, so they’d never trained their people to deal with such an eventuality. He had no sympathy for them—they would have invaded his town if he hadn’t gotten here first.
A group of troops came toward Cain, one of whom held a net that crackled with power. He almost rolled his eyes. They thought they could catch him like a fucking fish? Really? He flicked his hand, plucking a dead tree out of the ground and sending it sailing at them. They fell like skittles.
Two jumped to their feet and fired at him. He raised his hand, stopping the bullets with a wave of pure power. The troops cursed and fled. Wise decision.
He heard a familiar laugh. It seemed that Ishtar was having fun. So was Azazel, if the smirk he wore while pummeling troops with smoky spheres was anything to go by.
Well, what was not to like about the current situation?
Maybe if he’d been a sentimental person, Cain would have felt saddened by the sight of the smoking and broken buildings and the fire spreading along the ruined landscape. But Aeon had never been a place he was truly happy. Besides, it was already dying. The Ancients and dragons were simply speeding up the process.
Another cluster of troops advanced on Cain, exchanging looks, trying to position themselves to come at him from several angles. He waved his arm, sending clumps of heavy rubble from a fallen house flying at the troops. Most collapsed to the ground while others retreated.
Seth sidled up to him, his eyes lit with the effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “It’s possible that we have a problem.”
Cain frowned, hitting yet another building with a ball of lava. “What kind of problem?”
“Eve was supposed to stick with me, but she’s gone. I didn’t see her slip away.”
Cain felt his expression harden. “If she’s betrayed us, she’ll die here tonight. You know that, don’t you? You won’t have a say in the matter. Neither will I. Wynter will butcher her before we have the chance.”
*
Battle adrenaline bubbling in her blood, Wynter slammed up her sword to parry the blow that came her way. Much like every other troop she’d come across, he did his best not to kill her. He simply aimed to defend and disable, clearly planning to haul her off to his leader.
She was having none of that shit.
Wynter whacked him with a surge of scorching hot, toxic magick, aiming for his open wounds so it would enter his bloodstream. He fought on even as his flesh blistered, blackened, and cracked. But when his skin began to peel and decay, leaving festering holes in his face and arms, he freaked the fuck out.
Distracted by the sight of his pinky finger withering, he didn’t see Wynter coming. She speared her blade through his heart and gave it a merciless twist. Once the life left his eyes, she withdrew her sword, allowing his body to slump to the ground.
She blew out a breath, feeling the sting of many superficial wounds. The air was hot from the fires and static from the potent power of the Ancients. She spared a quick moment to check on her coven. All had minor wounds but were otherwise fine. And they were still fighting hard.
Back in her huge cat form, Delilah consistently lunged, swiped out with claws, and bit into throats. Anabel/Mary swiped and parried and slaughtered, currently singing the Backstreet Boys’ “Everybody”
as she did so. As a crow, Hattie not only repelled magickal hits but repeatedly attacked, distracted, and blocked the view of any troops who came too close. When Xavier wasn’t raising the dead, he was fencing while also lashing out with his magick, lacing the air with its distinctive smell—the combined scents of death, mold, and decay that could make anyone retch.
God, she had the best coven ever.
So far, she hadn’t seen a single Aeon. None had come to the surface to fend off the Ancients, even though they had to know by now who’d descended upon their home and that their people would be helpless against the eight beings, who were launching power in all directions.
Most troops admirably, albeit stupidly, stood their ground. They also fought hard. And well.
Her heart squeezed each time she caught sight of a Devil’s Cradle resident meeting their end—throats were slit, bodies were ravaged, heads were lopped off, vampires burst into ashes, a dragon came crashing to the ground. It was devastating, but she couldn’t spare more than a passing sad thought for them; couldn’t afford to shift her focus from the battle.
It helped that some of the troops had wisely retreated. She’d bet that they hoped the Aeons would allow them to hide beneath ground with them. She doubted the arrogant fuckers would permit it, but she’d soon find out.
Two troops bypassed Anabel/Mary wickedly fast, heading right for Wynter. She swiped out with her blade, slashing at one. The other fisted her hair but just as quickly released her with a loud cry as Xavier stabbed his sword through the dickhead’s side. Wynter concentrated on the other troop, burning and infecting him with her magick even as she fenced, eventually taking him out with a brutal and fatal blow to the throat.
Xavier swiftly used his magick to reanimate the two corpses, just as he’d done to most of their victims—hence their current army of the undead, which sure came in handy. The zombies quickly joined it.
“I really should not like that you use your magick this way, but I damn well do,”
she said to Xavier, needing to talk loud so that he’d hear her above the horrendous din.
The guy grinned. “Awesome, aren’t I?”
A troop rushed Wynter, his sword raised. With a soft curse, she quickly whipped up her blade and blocked the blow, their weapons clashing with a distinctive clang. She moved fast and fluid as they fought. He was good. Clever. Fast enough to catch her off-guard. Heat sliced her chest as the tip of his sword scored her, tearing cloth, drawing blood.
Gritting her teeth, Wynter all but flew at him, expertly slicing and dodging. He staggered backwards under the pressure, and an opening finally came. Wynter wasted no time in taking him out with a hard thrust of her sword through his gut.
Her monster snarled, sulking at only being allowed to watch as opposed to fight—well, to eat and maim. Kali repeatedly cautioned it not to surface. Thankfully.
The buzzing of insects joined the many other sounds of battle. Cain. A smile built inside her at the confirmation that he was alive, and some of the tension left her muscles. She hadn’t let herself wonder if he was okay. She couldn’t afford to lose focus. She couldn’t—
Wynter frowned. “Mary, no, we don’t drink blood!”
Pouting, the blonde dropped the severed head she’d been about to drink from while holding it upside down . . . like it was a fucking mug of soup.
Unbelievable.
Wynter and her coven kept moving forward, hacking through troop after troop with the help of their undead friends. Before becoming immortal, she’d have been tiring and slowing and sporting far more injuries at this point. But now, her blows were still strong, her reflexes were still sharp, and her breathing wasn’t yet labored.
Tag-teaming an unfortunately powerful telekinetic vampire, Wynter and Delilah managed to reduce him to ashes with their combined arsenal of teeth, claws, magick, and sword. Which was right about when Wynter realized that Xavier was knocking back one of Anabel’s healing potions . . . and sporting one fuck of an injury to his chest.
Her heart leaped. “You okay?”
He nodded, rolling back his shoulders. “Punctured lung. I’ll be all right now.”
Anabel/Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek even as she thrust her arm out to the side, stabbing a troop right in the face. Well, ow.
Wynter’s peripheral vision yelled a warning. She ducked, evading the energy ball that then sailed over her head. She turned toward her attacker, noticing he was chanting under his breath. Before she could strike, a heavy blast of magick punched her right in the damn solar plexus. The breath left her lungs in a rush, and she felt her hand spasm around the hilt of her sword.
Oh, she was gonna destroy this fucker.
She didn’t get the chance. A glass vial shattered as Anabel/Mary threw a potion at his feet. Smoke puffed upward and surged down his throat. He stumbled backwards with a choking sound, scratching at his neck, his face reddening to the extreme. Eventually he hit the ground hard, dead.
Wynter gave Anabel/Mary a nod of thanks, who went back to singing, only adding to the awful level of noise. Clangs, screams, roars, and explosions fairly vibrated in the air.
The Ancients were still hurling blasts of power everywhere. The buildings in the town were all but demolished. The number of troops had gone down—partly because so many were dead, and partly because many others had given up on fighting and were seeking cover. Wynter had stumbled upon a fair few of them. And she might have let them be if they hadn’t tried to nab her. Idiots.
Hearing a hissing whistle, Wynter turned just in time to lift her sword and deflect the fireball that came her way. She spun to face her attacker, who charged at her in a blur. She backpedaled fast, bringing up her blade to slam it against his own.
They fought hard. Fast. Skillfully. But it only took one nick to his skin for the guy to rear back. He slapped and scratched at his flesh, seemingly unable to fully ignore the scuttle of phantom insects courtesy of the sword’s enchantment. Taking advantage, she slit his throat in one clean, devastating swipe.
Hearing a squawk of pain, Wynter felt her breath catch. Hattie. She twisted quickly to—
A heavy weight slammed into the back of her head, dazing the fuck out of her. Pain wracked her skull as her vision blurred and dimmed. Then everything went black.