Page 79

She reached up to grab it, green eyes wide, confused, shocked.

Mirobhail crashed to the marble floors, lifeless already, not even looking at me.

Two Angels.

Metatron. One of Lux’s sons. We’d only met three times. He wasn’t very old, born no more than thirty years ago. Blond like his father, with the carnal stare of an animal and the laugh of a hyena.

Another one, whose name I didn’t know. Dark hair and eyes. Light skin, speckled with my children’s blood.

Nix, I need you, I said into his mind.

No response.

I lapsed the Elvan ore dagger from my thigh into my palm.

Metatron opened his mouth to speak.

I was already behind the other one. I didn’t press the knife to his throat. I slammed it into the back of his neck and ripped to the side. Beheading was close to impossible without a sword, but partially detached would do the trick.

Before I even dropped the man, an arm closed around my neck from behind.

Rapidly, my vision blurred, blackening around the edges. I tried to lapse from his hold, but he only moved with me.

I pounded the heel of my foot onto the top of his. He grunted but didn’t go down. It was just enough time to ram my elbow into his gut. He was far stronger than me, strong enough to rip my head from my body, so my miniscule punch did next to nothing.

I slammed the dagger into his arm at my neck, relieved when it hit bone instead of slicing through my throat.

Involuntarily, his torn muscles released. He screamed.

I ducked beneath his bleeding arm, whirling to face him. I was just about to lunge when he disappeared.

Before he had the time to land behind me, I lapsed to the edge of the room. A sword of Elvan ore hung on the wall by the window. Just as I yanked it, his hand was around my wrist, pinning it to the wall. He had the other with the other hand, dropping the blade.

“You didn’t think it’d be so easy, did you?”

I slammed my knee into his groin.

He growled in pain, frustration. Squeezing my wrists so tight that crunches sounded, pain rippling through me, he said, “Drop it.”

“Never.”

Another growl of annoyance. “You’re fighting for nothing, don’t you realize that?”

“I agree. This is all fucking useless,” I snapped. “None of this was necessary. It’s a bunch of children throwing temper tantrums.”

“I’m no chi—”

“You’re a pathetic sheep. That’s what you are.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Killing children?Why? For what, lad? So Michael can rule?”

“So we don’t all fucking die when the maalaichte cnihme return.” Spit splattered with each word. “You’re weak. So’s your husband, and your friends. You need to be reborn and grow—”

“My husband and I are the only chance you have at surviving their return, you fucking imbecile.” I kept talking, but out of the corner of my eye, I focused on those flowers in the pot, creeping across the ground toward him. I may not have been strong enough to escape his grasp, but those vines were thick. “You knownothingof the maalaichte cnihme. You didn’t evenexistwhen they invaded last.”

“I know enough. I know you couldn’t defeat them then, and you won’t be able to defeat them when they return. The only one who could was my grandfather—”

“Who your leaders murdered.”

“He’ll be around when we need him. Don’t you worry.” His narrowed eyes flicked between mine. “And so will you. We’ll make sure you’re stronger next time around.”