Chapter Thirteen #2
He disappeared inside the office without explaining Jim Bob,
so she wandered around the giant hall, marveling at the tapestries and
portraits that depicted angels battling demons. All but one. The largest one,
taking up nearly an entire wall, was of a stunning dark-haired man with
piercing green eyes that appeared to look right through her. Shadows seemed to
swirl around the picture, as if the man inside was swallowing the light both in
the painting and in the room.
She heard footsteps behind her,
knew instinctively it was Hawkyn. Or maybe she knew it was him because her
heart fluttered every time he was close.
Oh, God, I’m attracted to an angel. An angel who is
protecting the person who wants to slaughter me.
Really, that was pretty fucked up on more than one level.
“That’s my father,” he said, and she shivered. “Azagoth.”
“I expected him to be hideous. This throws me off a bit.”
She glanced around at all the impossibly good-looking people walking around,
including Hawkyn. “Does explain a lot, though. Your people are...beautiful.”
“I’m guessing yours are, too?”
She felt her cheeks catch on fire. “Are you basing that on
the fact that sex demons were used in our breeding, and sex demons are always
attractive?”
“No,” he said softly. “I’m basing that on you.”
She sucked in a ragged, startled breath, but she didn’t have
time to respond, because a heartbeat later he was grabbing her bag and her hand
and heading up a winding staircase.
“The housing administrator is giving you one of the two
guest rooms on the top floor. They’re nothing special, only a little larger
than the Memitim rooms, but the bed is a double instead of a single and you
have a private bathroom.”
“Hawkyn!” A voice halted them in their tracks before they’d
made it even halfway up the stairs.
“Fuck.” Hawkyn released her hand and they both turned
around.
Down below, in the great hall, stood two angels, their
wings—one set black and the other light gray—extended as if getting ready to
launch into the air. Both were holding scythes, and neither looked happy to be
there.
Aurora gripped the handrail so hard her palm hurt. “Who are
they?”
“They’re Ascended brothers,” he said calmly, but his tone
didn’t relieve the icy fear that filled her chest cavity. “And they’re here to
punish me.”
Hundreds of years ago, Hawkyn had waited, terrified
and cornered, as men came to arrest him for stealing bread he’d needed to
survive. He could still remember how hard his heart had pounded inside his thin
body, how adrenaline had made his empty belly want to spill all over their
shoes.
Shoes he didn’t have.
He’d begged for mercy, but there had been none.
Now there were two Punishers from the Memitim embassy
waiting for him below, but he was a different male. He would not cower. And he
would not beg.
But this was not going to be fun.
“Stay here,” he told Aurora as he dropped her bag on the
steps. “No matter what happens, don’t move.” He took the steps down, keeping
his eyes on the two males as he went. He’d never met these siblings, and even
with the threat of violence hanging over his head, he still wondered which of
the seventy-two angels Azagoth had bred with were their mothers. “Hello, boys.
What brings you here?”
As if he couldn’t guess.
Someone had ratted him out. Some asshole
had reported that he’d interfered in his Primori’s life, and he was going to
get a thorough tongue lashing. Or maybe even a physical one.
“If you don’t know, you deserve worse than what’s going to
happen to you.” The taller of the two, the one with dark hair who was the
spitting image of Azagoth, stepped forward. “I’m Leonas.” He gestured to the
ashen-haired male with the pale gray wings. “This is Moze.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hawkyn said, hoping they picked up every
sarcastic note in his voice.
Moze snorted, but sobered at
Leonas’ glare.
“We are all full brothers, sons of Azagoth and Ulnara,”
Leonas said. “Which is probably why we were chosen to punish you for
interfering with the actions of your Primori. Our superiors assumed you’d think
we’d show mercy.” Leonas smiled, the same icy smile their father used just
before he turned someone into a living work of tortured art. “We won’t.”
Shit. This was going to be way worse than a tongue
lashing or some sort of sanction.
Hawkyn summoned a weapon and threw up a personal shield, but
even as his scythe formed in his palm, he knew that defense was futile.
Ascended angels were far more powerful than any earthbound Memitim, and sure
enough, he only got two swings of the blade in before Moze had
him pinned against the wall, his face eating stone.
Roaring in anger, he kicked out, catching Moze in the upper
thigh with a blow that would have broken a lesser male’s femur. Moze shouted in
pain, and then Hawk was the one in agony as Leonas smashed his fist into his
back, right through his ribs. His fingers were like claws as they dug around
until they found one of his shadow wings.
No!
Through his panting breaths and the spastic pounding of his
pulse in his ears he heard Aurora’s screams for his brothers to stop, but they
didn’t. Blood splashed to the floor as Leonas ripped the wing from its anchor
and tossed it into the puddle at Hawk’s feet. Like the shadow it was, it
dissipated, leaving no trace at all.
Emerico, he thought, trying to focus on something
besides the searing, tearing misery of Leonas’ hand plunging inside him again
to fish around for the remaining wing. Emerico was the one who had betrayed
him. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it made sense, and honestly, Hawkyn
didn’t blame him. Memitim were taught early in their training to put the rules
and their duties ahead of everything else, including family and personal
relationships.
For centuries Hawkyn had obeyed, being a good Memitim no
matter what. He’d always wanted to do the right thing so he could join the
Council and enforce the Memitim agenda.
Now he just wanted to burn the place down.
As Leonas tore Hawkyn’s remaining wing away, a lightning
storm of pain wracked him, robbing him of his breath, his eyesight, and,
mercifully, his consciousness.