Chapter 24
24
GADREEL
G adreel felt it when the Dimi who had slaughtered his soldiers spilled from the darkness of the village paths, her Shadow at her side. He tilted his head, examining her. They were a study in contrasts: her with her vivid red braid and pale skin, the Shadow with his hair the color of the night itself and his narrowed, storm-gray eyes.
He had seen this Dimi before, he was sure of it. But where? The memory nagged at him with the insistence of a fish caught on a line, slipping free when he sought to grasp it.
Gadreel stepped forward, beyond his demon soldiers. Some had already dragged Vila children from their beds, for a witch without her Shadow was greatly weakened, and without Vila, no Shadowchildren could be born. Others stood, awaiting his orders. The Shadow who had been patrolling alongside his packmate lay curled at Azazel’s feet, choking on Grigori venom.
The red-haired witch stared at the fallen Shadow, mouth open in horror. She fell to her knees, pulling a metal syringe from her pocket and stabbing it into the Shadow’s arm as she muttered an incantation. But the Shadow didn’t stir.
The witch’s head came up and she sought Gadreel’s eyes. Within them roiled a pure fury that resonated with his own. That look called to him, echoing in the vast chambers of his memory. And suddenly he knew, with a certainty that thrilled through his veins, where he had seen her before. She had been a fighter then, too; he remembered it well. Now she had come full circle, finding her way back to him once more.
Exaltation surged through Gadreel. He had waited so long, but it had been worth every century. This one was perfect.
“We meet again, little Dimi,” he said, a smile lifting his lips. “Well met.”
Her copper brows creased with confusion. She didn’t remember him. No matter: it had been some time, and the circumstances had been unfortunate—for her, anyhow. Gadreel had enjoyed them quite a lot. Sometime soon, he would take pleasure in refreshing her memory.
The Dimi’s contemptuous gaze raked over him from head to foot. “You walk in another’s skin. But I see you for what you are. Demon filth. You shall do no more damage here tonight.”
“That,” he told her, “is your choice. For I am Gadreel, ruler of the Fallen realms, and I came for you.”
By the witch’s side, the Shadow stirred. When he spoke, his voice was rough with the beginnings of his Change. “You’ll not touch her.”
A harsh laugh tore from Gadreel’s throat. “Shadow of the most powerful spellcaster to walk in centuries. How I will enjoy ripping out your heart.”
The man’s form blurred, just as Gadreel’s soldiers’ had in the woods. Then, in the fastest Change Gadreel had ever seen, he was on all fours, snarling, covered in fur as dark as his hair. The black dog lunged, teeth bared, as the Dimi closed her eyes and the wind began to rise.