Текст книги "Raziel"

Автор книги: Kristina Douglas

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

I didn’t give a damn if he was kept waiting, I told myself as I double-timed it up the stairs. I had no idea which way he was coming, only that he was near, and sprinted toward the apartment.

I didn’t bother wondering how I knew. Presumably just part of the magic juju of this place. I made it to the apartment ahead of him, gasping for breath as I slammed the door behind me. I grabbed a loose sweater to pull around the less-than-generous top. Why did dresses in Sheol have décolleté? I wondered. Wouldn’t a nun’s habit be more fitting?

Apparently not. This place, unlike the celibate, puritanical afterlife I’d always envisioned, was practically seething with sex. I raced into the bathroom, shoved rough fingers through my hair, and headed back out to the living room, taking a flying leap and landing on the sofa seconds before the front door opened.

“Where were you?” he demanded.

“I went for a walk. With Sarah,” I added. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to be a prisoner in here.”

“You’re not. Not anymore. But it would still be better if you went out with someone else. Someone told me you were at the gates, alone. Why?”

I saw no point in lying, particularly since he was able to read my thoughts whenever he wanted to. “I was thinking of leaving.”

“That would have been a grave mistake. The Nephilim are out there. You wouldn’t have survived five seconds once the sun went down.”

“Maybe I could have gotten past them—”

“Don’t you realize there’s no going back?” he demanded. “That life is over. Gone.”

Frustration filled me. “And what do I replace it with?”

“If Uriel has his way, absolutely nothing.”

“You think the Nephilim are coming as well?” I shivered, pulling the sweater more closely around me.

“Sarah told you that, did she? We all know it. We just don’t know when. But it seems as if your arrival was some sort of signal. One last piece of disobedience on the part of the Fallen.”

“You mean it’s myfault?” I said, horrified. “I’m the reason everyone is going to die?”

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, for pulling you back. But the truth is of little matter. Uriel would find a way sooner or later, and the presence of the Nephilim at our gates means it will be sooner.”

I digested this. I’d died once in the last three days. If it happened again, at least I’d have some experience.

I was watching him as he sat on the coach opposite me, wary. “Would you answer a question?”

“It depends on the question.”

“Why did we have sex last night? You said it was necessary. Sarah said it had something to do with finding out whether I was evil or not. Why don’t you tell me the truth.”

“Sarah’s right,” he said. “But you don’t need to worry. It won’t—”

“Happen again,” I jumped in. “You needn’t bother to explain—I already knew what you were going to say.”

He looked disturbed at the idea. “You did?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You needed to find out if I was evil, and for some reason having sex with me was the only way to do it. That seems far-fetched, but I’ll accept it. But we’ve done it, it’s over, I passed inspection, so there’s no need to repeat it, right?”

“Right.”

“So why did we do it twice?” I said it to make him uncomfortable, not because I expected a real answer.

He didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable. He leaned back on the sofa, watching me, his eyelids drooping lazily as if he weren’t paying much attention. But he was, I knew it instinctively. I was beginning to understand a lot about him on a purely instinctive level.

“Just to remove any doubts,” he said deliberately. “A quick fuck up against a wall might not have given me quite enough information. Which is why I had to . . . taste you. Blood never lies. People do. Bodies do. Blood, never.”

I squirmed. “What kind of angel uses words like quick fuck?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Fallen ones.” He tilted his head, observing me like I was a scientific specimen he was about to stick a pin through, and I remembered that feeling from the night before as he searched inside me. “In truth, it might be better if everyone thinks we’re in the midst of a torrid sexual affair. The Fallen don’t like anomalies, and if you can act as if your only interest is being in bed with me, it should make everyone less nervous.”

Not much of a stretch, I reflected, then tried to slam down the thought.

Too late. “That’s good,” he drawled. “It’s what everyone will expect—anything else would be a red flag.”

“You’re supposed to be that good?” I mocked him, trying for distance.

“It’s the nature of the beast,” he replied “Bondings are never casual. Intense, consuming, occasionally dangerous, but never casual. You can spend most of your time up here, if you prefer not to have me touching you. It would probably be safer.”

He was hoping I’d choose that option—it didn’t take a psychic or someone with angelic superpowers to figure that out. He wanted—needed—distance from me even more than he had before. I just couldn’t figure out why.

“There’s no need to overthink things, Allie,” he said. “We simply have to keep things quiet until Uriel forgets about you.”

“The archangel Uriel is forgetful?” I said doubtfully.

“No. But we can hope.” And if he doesn’t forget, I’ll take Allie away from this place, somewhere Uriel can’t get to her without sending his avenging angels, and one small human female won’t be worth the effort. He won’t forget, but there will be other things demanding his attention—such as punishing me for disobedience.

I stared at him. “No.”

“No what?” he said, rising and heading for the kitchen, secure in the belief that the conversation had ended.

“You’re not going to sacrifice yourself for me, you’re not going to stash me where Uriel can’t find me, and this conversation has not ended.” And with a mixture of dawning horror and delight, I knew I’d read his mind.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE FIRST FLOOR WAS DESERTED when Sarah made her way up from the kitchens. Everyone was too tense to eat, the kitchen staff were in disarray, and it was up to her to keep things running smoothly. The long hike made her a little breathless, and she waited for a moment to regain her composure. If Azazel realized she was having trouble breathing he would overreact, and the Fallen couldn’t afford to have that happen right now.

With everything else he was calm, measured, unemotional, able to make the hard decisions without flinching. He would have condemned Allie to Uriel’s hell, and he would have been the one to take her, if necessary. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But if he knew Sarah was getting weaker, it would distract him, and right now Sheol needed his undivided attention.

The Nephilim were at their gates. She could hear their howls and moans in the night, the hideous, bone-chilling sounds as they attacked the impenetrable door. Impenetrable for now, but sooner or later they would get through. Someone was a traitor, the Nephilim horde would be shown a way to break through the barriers, and there would be a bloodbath.

She knew it. Azazel knew it. She wondered how many of the Fallen were aware of what awaited them. Quite possibly most of them.

Her breathing had steadied now. She checked her pulse—it was slow and even. People lived longer, healthier lives in Sheol. But they couldn’t live forever, and her life was drawing to a close. Sooner than it should have in this sacred place, but she accepted it. Azazel, however, would not.

She pushed away from the long sideboard in the front hall and went to her husband. He was down by the water—her knowledge was instinctive and sure. She knew him so well, knew how he’d fight to keep her. But in the end there was nothing he could do. She would have to leave, and he would go on.

He didn’t turn when she joined him on the moonlit beach. He was sitting on the grass, and she sat beside him, leaning against him as he put his arm around her waist. She pressed her face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of him. Her blood kept him alive—their joining was so complete they seldom had need for words.

But tonight she felt like talking. “I’ve been talking with Allie.”

He settled her more comfortably against him. “He really did bed her, didn’t he?”

“Most thoroughly. Though there was only the slightest scratch on her neck, and it hadn’t healed. But he would have taken enough to be certain—Allie is not your traitor.”

“I know,” he said, not sounding happy about it. “And how is she?”

“That poor creature,” Sarah said with a laugh.

“She’ll manage,” Azazel said with his customary lack of sentiment.

“I’m talking about Raziel. He doesn’t realize what he’s gotten himself into. She knew where he was.”

That was enough to make Azazel sit up straight and look down at her. “Are you certain? Maybe she just guessed.”

Sarah shook her head. “She knew. It won’t be long before she can read his thoughts just as he reads hers. And he’s not going to like it.”

Azazel managed a dry laugh. “He’ll hate it. So you’re telling me this woman really is his bonded mate? And she can already hear him? That’s extraordinary.”

“So it appears. No wonder he hauled her back from the pit Uriel had consigned her to. Clearly it wasn’t an accident. What bothers me is why Uriel set it up. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Raziel was supposed to dispose of his bonded mate.”

“Why should it surprise you? If Uriel can deprive us of our bonded mates, it weakens us. He can’t kill us, can’t send his legion of soldiers against us without sufficient reason. All he can do is torture us. As long as Raziel has no mate, he will remain at less than full strength. That’s the way Uriel wants us, if he can’t have us dead. Too bad for him it backfired.”

Sarah smiled. “Raziel’s still fighting it.”

“That’s his problem, not ours. He needs to claim her and feed, but he’s a stubborn bastard. He’s going to have to figure this out on his own. I just hope it doesn’t take him too long. We need him at full strength, the sooner the better.” He looked out toward the ocean, his blue eyes wintry. “What about the woman?”

“Oh, I think she knows, deep inside. She may have always known. She’s probably going to fight it as well.”

Azazel sighed. “Just what we need. Soap operas in Sheol.”

A bestial scream rent the night air, and Sarah shivered. “The Nephilim are coming closer,” she said in a low voice.

“Yes.”

“They’re going to get in, sooner or later.”

“Probably sooner,” he said in his pragmatic voice.

She managed a shaky laugh. “Couldn’t you at least lie to me, tell me everything will be all right?”

He looked down at her, reaching up to brush her moonlit silver hair away from her face with a tender hand. “Now, what good would that do me? I don’t shield my thoughts. Unlike you,” he added.

“You really don’t want to know some of the things that go on in my tortured mind,” she said lightly. If he knew what was going to happen, he would try to do something to stop it, and there were things that couldn’t be changed. Her death was one of those things, whether she liked it or not.

He rose, pulling her up into his arms, against his hard, strong body. Once her body had almost equaled his, lithe and young and beautiful. Now she was old, and he still looked at her, touched her, like she were twenty.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said as another howl echoed in the distance. He reached up to push her loose robes off her body.

She let him, and a moment later he was naked as well, and they ran into the surf, holding hands, diving under the cold salt water as the bright moon shone down. She swam out, secure in the knowledge that he could get to her at a moment’s notice, and once past the breaking swells she rolled over to float on her back, letting her hair drift around her. Ophelia, she thought. He had to be able to let her go.

He came up beside her, and she kissed his mouth, cold and wet and salty, and wrapped her body around his, floating, peaceful. There weren’t many moments like this left to them, and she was greedy, she wanted everything she could get.

He smiled against her mouth. “Shall we go back to our rooms? Or is Raziel’s soap opera going to demand your services again tonight?”

“You’re the only one who gets my services tonight,” she murmured, letting him pull her in toward the distant shore.

They were back in their bedroom, the doors open to the night air, when she heard the screams of the Nephilim once more.

“Close the windows, love,” she said softly, sliding between the cool sheets.

He did as she asked, not questioning, and then came to bed.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” I stared at the woman with horror. I’d been having a hard time not thinking about taking her to bed, but her blithe announcement had driven that straight out of my mind.

“I knew what you were thinking,” she said smugly. “Is that because we had sex? Earlier I knew you were coming here long before you showed up. I realized that was odd because of Sarah’s reaction, and now I can sort of pick up your thoughts.”

“Can you indeed?” I said calmly, wondering if I could get away with throwing her off the balcony and telling everyone she’d slipped. No, I couldn’t, but it was a nice thought.

One she didn’t pick up on, fortunately. So her ability to read me wasn’t that well developed. Yet.

Shit. Under normal circumstances, there was only one reason a woman would be able to read me—because she was my bonded mate. But for me there would be no bonded mates ever again. This was just an anomaly.

“Not now, of course,” she said, frowning. “Just the occasional thought sort of drifting through my brain. Are you doing that?”

“Letting you read my thoughts? No,” I said, controlling my instinctive shudder. I couldn’t let her know how she affected me. “This is a fluke—by tomorrow, it should have passed. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it. I like it. It gives me something to fight back with,” she said.

Interesting. “Why do you need to fight me?” I asked her.

That stumped her for a moment, and I tried to touch her mind. A mistake. She wanted me, I could feel it quite clearly. It was almost a physical touch, even though she was trying hard to suppress it. That was what she needed to fight.

“I feel powerless here,” she said finally.

“You arepowerless here.” I moved over to the bank of windows that faced the sea. They were open, the sheer white curtains fluttering inward on the strong wind. I could hear the soothing sound of the ocean as it beat against the sandy shore. It almost—almost—drowned out the screams from the world beyond. I glanced back at the woman sitting curled up, a stain of color against the pristine white of the sofa. I had an easier time resisting her when she was dressed in white. Why had I ordered those clothes for her? The colors assaulted my eyes, assaulted my senses. They drew me. “What else did Sarah want?”

“To welcome me into the fold of Sheol sex slaves.”

She was trying to annoy me, as usual, and succeeding, as usual. “No one is a sex slave around here.”

“The women don’t seem to have much else to do. Fuck and let you drink their blood. I’m assuming that only goes one way.”

I tried to keep my face blank. “Of course.”

“Then why don’t you take my blood?”

I turned away from her. She’d have a harder time reading the truth if she couldn’t see my face. “I took enough to make certain you were innocent. That was all I needed or wanted. The Fallen can feed only from a bonded mate or the Source, and you’re neither.”

“Then what am I? Besides a nuisance,” she added, immediately reading my mind.

It unnerved me, but I was determined not to show any reaction. “I don’t know.”

She rose, saying nothing, and the dress swirled around her bare ankles as she moved past me into the kitchen. Her skirts brushed against my legs like the caress of a warm breeze, and without thinking I reached for her.

But she had already moved past, and she didn’t even notice, thank God. She turned, as if aware she’d missed something, but by then I was leaning negligently against the counter, concentrating on the almost imperceptible pattern of the white Carrara marble.

She’d pulled out a glass bottle of milk when a louder scream split the night, and she dropped it. If I hadn’t been so attuned to her, I wouldn’t have been able to catch it in time and set it on the counter.

“What the hell was that?” she asked in a harsh voice.

“The Nephilim. They’re getting closer.”

She turned pale. “They can’t get in, can they?”

“Presumably not. There are all sorts of wards and guards placed on the borders. The only way they could get inside is if someone let them in, and whoever did that would die as well.”

“What if someone would rather die than spend eternity trapped here?” she demanded, rattled.

“You won’t be here an eternity. I’ll find some way to get you out.”

“God, I hope so. I don’t want to live to be one hundred and twenty without falling in love,” she said, and I winced. “But I wasn’t talking about me. What if someone else has a death wish?” She shivered, and I wanted to warm her, calm her. I stayed right where I was.

“There is no one else. The Fallen chose this life. Their mates have chosen the Fallen. No one’s going to sneak out to the walls and let the monsters in.” I could lie about my reaction to her. Lying about the danger we were in was beyond me. “The truth is, I don’t know,” I said. “They’re beating against the walls, frustrated because they can’t break in. There’s no way they can break through the walls that guard this place, no way that anyone can. It’s inviolate.”

She didn’t believe me. I didn’t need to pick up specific words to know that she was filled with distrust. If I knew how to reassure her, I would have. I didn’t even know how to reassure myself.

“I don’t think the milk’s going to do it,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I thought some warm milk was going to calm my nerves, but I don’t think it’ll work as long as that caterwauling is going on. I don’t suppose this place comes equipped with whiskey? No, I forgot—whiskey isn’t white.”

“There’s vodka,” I said.

“Of course there is.” She opened the refrigerator to put the milk back, then emerged with a chilled bottle of Stoli. “You really need to let a little color into your life, Raziel.”

I looked at her in the brightly hued dress I’d given her. Everything about her was vibrant, colorful, disrupting the calm emptiness of my world. She poured two glasses, neat, and pushed one toward me across the marble counter.

It wasn’t a good idea. Keeping my hands off her was requiring every ounce of concentration I had. Even half an ounce of alcohol might be enough to weaken my resolve.

Then again, getting her drunk would be an excellent idea. I found drunken women completely unappealing. And if she passed out, I wouldn’t be tempted to put my hands on either side of her head and draw her face up to mine, to kiss her. . . .

She’d already picked up her glass and drained it, giving a delicate little shudder. “I don’t really like vodka,” she said in a small voice. She looked pointedly at my untouched glass. “Clearly, neither do you.”

I said nothing. She wanted me to put my arms around her. I knew it, and wished I didn’t. The noise of the Nephilim was growing louder, the howls and screams, the roars and grunts deeply disturbing. I knew the horror that lay beneath that sound. I thought I could smell them on the night air, the foul stench of old blood and rotting flesh, but it had to be my imagination. I tried to concentrate on them, but her thoughts pushed them away. She wanted my arms around her; she wanted to press her head against my chest. She wanted my mouth, she wanted my body, and she wasn’t going to tell me.

She didn’t need to tell me. There was a crash outside, followed by a louder roar, and she jumped nervously. “If you don’t like vodka, why do you even have it?” she said, clearly trying to distract herself.

“I like vodka. I just think it might be better if I didn’t let alcohol impair my judgment in case something happens.”

If anything her face turned whiter. “You think they’re going to break through?”

I had to laugh. “No. Worse than that.”

“Worse than flesh-devouring cannibals?”

“Is there any other kind of cannibal?” I pointed out.

“What’s worse than the Nephilim?” she said irritably, some of her panic fading.

“Sleeping with you.”

Shit. And I meant to not even mention it. She stared at me for a long moment, then tried to push past me. “Enough is enough,” she snapped. “If you prefer the Nephilim to me, you can damned well go climb over the fence and fuck them.”

I caught her, of course. My arm snaked around her waist and I spun her around, pushing her back against the wall, trapping her there with my body pressed against hers. “I didn’t say I preferred them,” I whispered in her ear, closing my eyes to inhale the addictive scent of her. “As far as I’m concerned, though, you’re worse trouble.” I kissed the side of her neck, tasting her skin, breathing in the smell of her blood as it rushed through her veins. So easy just to make one small piercing, just take a taste. I moved my mouth behind her ear, fighting it.

She was holding herself very still. “W-w-why?” she stammered.

“I can kill the Nephilim,” I whispered. “I can fight them. But I have too hard a time fighting you.”

She turned her face up to mine, and her hands reached up to touch me. “Then don’t fight,” she said in a tone of such practicality that I wanted to laugh.

“At least I won’t rip out your heart.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said. And like a fool, I kissed her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IKNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT I WAS an idiot to do this, but right then nothing could have stopped me. His body was pressed up tight against me, and the heat and strength of it calmed my panic—but brought out a whole new raft of fear. His mouth was hot, wet, carnal, as he kissed me, his slow deliberation at odds with the crazed rush of lust that had overwhelmed us last night. He slanted his mouth across mine, tasting, biting, giving me a chance to kiss him back, his tongue a shocking intruder that somehow felt right. In my somewhat limited experience, men didn’t really like to kiss; they simply did it to get to the part they did like.

Raziel clearly enjoyed kissing—he was too good at it not to enjoy it. He was in no hurry to push me into bed, no hurry to do anything more than kiss me.

He lifted his head, and his strange, beautiful eyes with their striated irises stared down at me for a long, breathless moment. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Kissing you. If you haven’t figured that out yet, I must not be doing a very good job of it. I must need practice.” And he kissed me again, a deep, hungry kiss that stole my breath and stole my heart.

“I mean whyare you kissing me?” I said when he moved his mouth along my jawline and I felt it tingle all the way down to . . . I wasn’t sure where. “You just told me you’d rather face the Nephilim—”

“Shut up, Allie,” he said pleasantly. “I’m trying to distract both of us.” He slid the dress straps down my shoulders, down my arms, exposing my breasts to the cool night air, and I heard his murmur of approval. “No bra,” he said. “Maybe I’m going to like your new clothes.”

He moved his mouth down the side of my neck, lingering for a moment at the base of my throat, to the place where he’d left his mark, and I reflexively rose toward him, wanting his mouth there, wanting . . .

But he moved on, and I stifled my cry of despair. And then forgot all about it as he leaned down and put his lips on my bared breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth. I caught his shoulders, digging my fingers into them as I arched up, offering myself to him. I could feel the sharpness of his teeth against me, and I knew a moment’s fear that he would draw blood from my breast, but his hand covered my other breast, soothing, stimulating, so that my nipple became a hardened button to match the one in his mouth, and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not there, not anywhere, he told me, and I felt his consciousness enter my mind, a deliberate invasion as intimate and arousing as his tongue and his cock.

His eyes were black with desire now, and he pushed the fabric of the dress down to my hips, baring my torso, nuzzling beneath the swell of my breast;

and then his hands were on my thighs, drawing the dress slowly upward, and I was feeling rushed, greedy, desperate for him, wanting him inside me, wanting him now, and I raised my hips, mindlessly searching.

He wants this, I thought dazedly, reveling in the certainty of his need. He wanted me. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in my body, to soak in the forgetfulness of lust and desire and completion, to lose himself, and to bring me with him on a journey of such transcending desire that the very thought frightened me, and I tried to pull away. I hadn’t had time for second thoughts during our frantic couplings. Now I could be calm, detached, dismissive as I needed to be, except that I needed him even more than I needed calm, and his hands were running up my bare legs now, his fingers inside the lacetrimmed edge of my panties, touching me, and I let out a muffled yelp of reaction, followed by a moan of pure pleasure as he began pulling the panties down my legs.

And then he jumped away, so quickly I almost fell. The blackness was gone from his eyes and at the moment they were like granite, and I wondered what the hell had happened. And then I heard the screams.

Different from the distant howls and shrieks of the Nephilim, safely beyond the borders of Sheol. These were closer, the guttural howls echoing through the five floors of the building. These were here.

“Stay here,” he ordered tersely. “Find someplace to hide. If worse comes to worst, go out on the balcony and be prepared to jump.”

I stared in astonishment at the angel who’d just told me to commit suicide. “What . . . ?”

“They’re here.” His voice was flat, grim. “The walls have fallen.”

I froze, the numb, mindless horror washing over me. “The Nephilim?”

He was almost at the door, but he stopped, wheeled around, and came back to me, catching my arms in a painful grip. “You can’t let them near you, Allie. No matter what. Hide if you think you’ve got a chance. This is a long way to climb, and their bloodlust will send them after the nearest targets. But if they reach this floor . . .” He took a deep breath. “Jump. You don’t want to see or hear what they’re capable of, you don’t want to risk getting caught by them. Promise me, Allie.” His fingers tightened. “Promise me you’ll jump.”

I had never backed off from a challenge, never taken the easy way out in my entire, too-short life. I looked up into Raziel’s face and could sense the horror he was seeing, the horror he was letting me catch only a glimpse of. A glimpse was enough. I nodded. “If I must,” I said.

To my astonishment, he kissed me again, a brief, fast kiss, almost a kiss good-bye. And he was gone.

There was no place to hide. The bed was too low to the floor, and when I burrowed into the closet, the screams from below still echoed, even when I covered my head with my arms and tried to drown them out. I struggled back into the bedroom. I didn’t know if the screams were getting louder or the Nephilim were getting closer. I’d promised him, and I might have a thousand and one characters flaws, but I never broke a promise. I pushed open the window and climbed onto the balcony. And then froze.

The sand was black in the moonlight, and it took me a moment to realize it was blood. There were bodies everywhere, or what was left of them.

Headless torsos, arms and legs that had been ripped free, gnawed on, and then discarded. And the stench that was carried upward on the night breeze was the stuff of nightmares. Blood, old blood, and decaying flesh. The stink of the monsters that crawled below, searching for fresh meat.

I climbed onto the ledge, peering over, and had my first shadowy sight of one of them. It was unnaturally tall, covered with some kind of matted filth, though whether it was hair or clothes or skins of some kind I couldn’t be sure. Its mouth was open in a roar, and I thought I could see two sets of teeth, broken and bloody. It had someone in its hands, a woman with long blond hair and black-streaked clothes.

She was still alive. The creature was clawing at her, ripping her open so that her guts spilled out onto the sand, but her arms were still moving, her feet were twitching, and I screamed at it to stop, but my voice was carried away by the crash of the surf, lost amidst the screams and howls.

For a moment I stood paralyzed. The woman was finally still, her eyes wide in death, and the creature turned, moving in an odd, disjointed shuffle, heading inside. I couldn’t even count the number of bodies on the beach—they were ripped in too many pieces. And I knew then I couldn’t join them on the beach, doing a graceful swan dive to my death. What if I didn’t die right away? What if I lay there while the Nephilim found me, tore me apart while I still lived?

And how could I hide in my room when I could do something? That poor woman down there—if someone had been able to distract the creature, she might have been able to crawl to safety. But there was no one alive on the beach.

I didn’t hesitate, didn’t allow myself to fear. By the time I reached the third-floor landing I’d decided I was crazy, but I didn’t let it slow me down. Destinywas a stupid word, a word for heroines, and I was no heroine. All I knew was that I could do something to help, and I had to try.

The bodies started on the second floor, women of the Fallen who’d tried to escape, but were clawed and hacked and gnawed on by the monsters who’d somehow invaded the vale of Sheol. The stench was overpowering. Way in the past, when I’d started writing, I’d done research on crime scenes, had heard about the smell of week-old bodies that clung to the skin and hair of the police and couldn’t ever be eradicated from their clothes. It was that kind of smell that washed over me now, one of decayed flesh and maggots and rotting bones. Of old meat and ancient blood and shit and death.

The first floor was a battleground. I could see five of the Nephilim, tall and ungainly, easily recognizable. I took in the scene quickly: Azazel was fighting fiercely, blood streaming from a head wound and mixing with his long black hair. Tamlel was down, probably dead, as was Sammael, and I realized with belated horror that it had been Carrie out on the sand, fighting to the end with the monster who was devouring her.