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“Is that what’s happening—” Malakai’s question barely reached Darien’s ears as he lowered his watch from his mouth, concentrating on the problem at hand—on keeping his sister safe from this monster.

With an outward push of his free arm, his magic so wholly spent he now needed to use physical gestures to make it respond to his instructions, Darien sent the demon back several feet, away from Jack and Ivy. It roared in defiance, the thunderous sound vibrating the network of tunnels, clawed feet gouging the ground.

“What the hell was that?” Malakai was shouting.

Darien lifted the watch to his mouth. “I can’t handle all of them—”

“Where are you?” Footfall drifted through the tiny speaker. In the background, Darien heard him barking orders at other Reapers. “Hold on, never mind, I’ll track you. Stay where you are.”

“Hurry.” Darien wasn’t sure if this would work, but it would increase their odds of winning, that was for sure.

Darien and Travis might have the same type of magic, but they weren’t the only ones.

Malakai had it too.

71

Max and the others had made it out into the palm-lined street in front of Santa Aria Flats, Taega taking off into the sky to join Roark, just as the city’s power grid went down.

Vehicles died. Cell phones turned into useless props. Windows went dark, and every streetlight shut off with a pop and a hiss, pools of protective bright light vanishing right before their eyes, shrouding all of Angelthene in shades of gray and black. The silence was thick enough to cut, the lack of the lively atmosphere of the city raising a shiver on the back of Max’s neck.

Dominic tipped his head back and scanned the skyline, the buildings barely visible against the dark sky, now that all the lights were gone. “I’m going to have to fly the stone to Darien.”

Creatures with membranous wings were picking prey apart in midair, having scooped them up off the streets or pulled them out of unprotected cars to feed. Screams choked the night. With Max’s sharp hellseher vision, he could see trails of blood dripping to the sidewalks from way up high. Could see body parts toppling down as the creatures ripped them apart, limb from limb, the sight sickening.

“You can’t fly it by yourself!” Dallas argued. “There’s too many of them! Even for you.” She poked Dominic’s chest. Dominic, who looked like he was ready to bolt without a care for what it might cost him.

Cyra cut in. “She is right. I believe you can make it, Dominic, but not without help.” Even the Fleet soldiers were having trouble, some of them being dragged from their posts and ripped apart, hitting the ground seconds later in pieces.

Max was suddenly sweating. His eyes wouldn’t focus. He shook his head to clear it, forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation the others were having, the debate and struggle to keep Dominic from bolting. Blue clung to the Angel’s arm, begging him—just as Dallas was begging him—not to act rashly and devise a plan.

There was an ache between Max’s brows. A sharp pang that made him wince. His eyes watered and burned, as if the whole city was lit up with blinding lights. But it was still dark, not one bulb alit, not a sound in the area with the exception of the voices of his friends, yet he thought he could hear something. A strange noise that was vaguely familiar, but he failed at identifying it, because that horrible keening sound continued, making him shake his head. Rub his ears. Pace the width of the sidewalk.

Finally, the sound abated. It felt like much more time had passed, but Max had a feeling it was only seconds, possibly not even two whole minutes. Freed from that crippling feeling, he focused again, catching the tail end of his group’s discussion.

Dallas and Dominic had determined they would fly the Moonstone to Angelthene Boulevard together when footfall echoed from down the street, near Santa Aria Flats.

Sabrine was heading this way in wolf form, her black fur gleaming like onyx, the glossy strands illumed red by the Blood Moon. Traveling with her was Emilie Croft, soaring several feet above Sabrine. That creepy red light filtered through the expanse of Emilie’s leathery wings, casting her murky silhouette across the asphalt.

When Emilie’s feet touched ground, she shifted, wings transforming into a long jacket, her body now cloaked in clothes that had been absent a moment ago as her vampiric appearance was replaced with her less terrifying form. This form was more angelic than devilish, her face cherubic, her short hair flaxen and spiky.

Sabrine shifted, black fur dripping off her body like dark rain. It faded into silver sparks that dissipated when they touched ground, leaving her in leggings and a loose shirt.

“Are you guys okay?” Sabrine shouted as she and the vampire closed the rest of the distance and joined them on the sidewalk. “We came as soon as we heard.” She was barely winded from the journey here, thanks to the resilience and speed that came with being a werewolf.

Dallas pulled her friend into a quick embrace. “We’re okay. My mom gave us the Moonstone.”

Sabrine’s brows flicked up. “Taega actually cooperated?”

Max offered, “She pulls through when she’s needed.” His voice sounded weird when he spoke, as if his ears were plugged with water.

“Where’s Logan?” Dominic asked.

It was Emilie who answered. “He and Chrysantha went with the best fighters in the pack to the city’s perimeter.” Something told Max that if Emilie had been given the chance to join Chrys and the wolves, she would’ve jumped at it.

“We’re not sure if Roark will accept the help,” Sabrine said, “but Logan is unwilling to stand by and watch.” She gazed out at the city, the many buildings of various shapes and sizes, all of them dark. The way her throat bobbed, her almond-shaped eyes tightening with emotion, told Max she feared for Logan, her bond with the alpha likely prohibiting her thoughts from straying from him for long.

With the city drained of all power and spells, they could hear the attacks from here. They were faint, but everyone present had an immortal’s hearing, allowing them to separate the clang of blade against blade from the crack of bullets; the release of a crossbow string from the blasts of magic.