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Sariel shakes his head. “They can take care of themselves. Let’s go.”

Dust motes dance in the air as we turn a corner made by shipping containers, Sariel and Aim taking the lead, Jessica in the middle, and me last, defending them from behind. When they come to a sudden stop, I know something isn’t right.

I realize the reason for the standstill when I lay my eyes on Andras, a smirk on his face as he stands on a shipping container, clearly ready and waiting for us.

“All alone, Andras?” Aim asks casually, his hands free of weapons.

The demon lord above us, his leathery wings out, the claw-like hooks at their tips twitching, merely lifts one arm. As he does, his Cambion underlings appear from the shadows, guns in hand and menacing expressions on their faces.

“Too much of a pussy to face us yourself?” Sariel asks Andras in his signature drawl. “You throw mortal idiots with toys at us instead?”

“Show them what we do with infidels,” Andras tells his underlings in French. The clicking of their weapons echoes in the cavernous structure. I push Jessica behind me, calling out and spreading my wings to shield her more fragile body.

“Motherfuck!” Sariel yells as gunshots fill the air. Bullets ping off the shipping containers around us and I begin to worry some might ricochet into our Nephilim, so I wrap myself around her, holding her head to my chest. For a moment, I let the memory of me saving her from that demon during our first day in Hell suffuse my thoughts. She was a stranger then and now she is my heart.

Aim’s stifled gasp follows a gust of wind. I lift my head in time to see him fly past as if shot out from a cannon, then crash into the wall on the far side. He slumps down, immobile. That was Andras’ power, picking off the greatest threat from afar.

“Itha,” Jess mumbles into my chest. I let her lift her head up. “I’ll hide behind a container, go help Sariel.”

When I reluctantly look behind me, I see Sariel incapacitating the remaining Cambions and breaking their weapons while dodging Andras’ projectiles of wind, water, and fire. Thankfully, it’s not hellfire, but it only takes one misstep for him to be thrown out of the battlefield like Aim was.

I look back at my human. “Do not come out until Nephithar and the rest join us.” When she nods hastily, I gently take hold of her shoulders and give her a shake. “I mean it. If we falter, run to our vehicles.”

“I will. Promise.”

After pushing her around the corner, I join the other piece of me in battle. The handful of Cambions are dispatched easily enough. I take a glancing blow to the neck, just above the protection of my armor, but the few drops of blood are nothing compared to the blooms of silver on Sariel’s exposed body. Every few seconds, a bullet is expelled from his flesh, hitting the ground with a plinking sound.

Sariel throws a human in Jessica’s direction and I already take half a step toward them when a male grunt sounds out and combat boots peek through the corner, the thug obviously incapacitated and belly up.

I share a grin with the fallen angel.

“That’s our girl,” he says.

Two more of Andras’ minions charge in, these equipped with knives. I break the arms of the first, leaving him in a heap on the ground, the other joining him after Sariel chokes him unconscious.

The demon lord finally descends, two vicious-looking sickles in hand.

“Thank you for taking out the trash,” he says with a sneer, rotating his wrists so the half-moon weapons cut through the air with a whistling sound.

“We’ve only just begun,” I assure him as I palm my greatsword, falling into a combat-ready stance.

Shadows dance across the rusted beams as Andras lunges, his twin sickles hissing through the air. I meet him head-on, my sword clashing against both weapons at once, the impact sending sparks flying.

“Still the Council’s loyal hound?” Andras mocks, teeth flashing behind our blades.

“Better a hound than a traitor,” I respond, pushing the demon back.

I see Sariel circling us from the periphery of my vision, his battle axe spinning in his grip, his dark grin so at odds with the tension crackling in the air. He lunges, the double blades of his weapon flashing toward Andras’ ribs. The demon pivots, catching the blade with one sickle, the other slicing through Sariel’s leather vest. Alarmed, I take a step back to assess the damage but find no blood. When I look back at the demon, I see he noted my concern with a raised brow.

“I liked this vest,” Sariel growls, eyeing the hole in the garment.

“Come now, Fallen,” Andras laughs, eyes glinting. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

“I’ll enjoy it more when you’re bleeding at my feet, traitor.”

For a moment we work in tandem, keeping Andras at bay, though he moves like liquid shadow, anticipating our strikes, twisting between them like it’s merely a game.

Suddenly, he stops playing and one of his weapons strikes out, locking my greatsword and giving him free reign to slash the other across my ribs. As the stinging pain registers, Andras wastes no time to kick Sariel in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. A moment later he’s bringing me down as well, a hand wrapped around my throat.