Page 22

T he French Quarter's cobblestones glistened under the moonlight like scattered jewels. Abraxos didn't give a shit about the picturesque view. His scarlet wings carved through the pre-dawn air as he tracked yet another demonic signature threading its way through New Orleans' oldest streets. For a fallen still gathering his powers, Lucifer was an active asshole.

The energies pulsing beneath the city's historic foundations had both stabilized and been more erratic over the past few weeks. Ever since Camael and his witch had bonded. The massive incidents like they’d seen right before their mating hadn’t continued happening, but the minor ones had increased ten-fold. Tonight's patrol was serving up the kind of frustration that made him want to punch something. Preferably something ugly with too many teeth.

Fuck. He hit another dead end. The trail went cold near Bourbon Street. It dissolved into nothing but traces of sulfur and wasted time. This was the third lead tonight that had fizzled out like cheap champagne .

His comm crackled. "Anything?" Araton's voice carried that edge of tension they'd all been wearing lately.

"Negative." Abraxos banked hard around Jackson Square. His crimson wings reflected off ancient brick. "These bastards are getting better at masking their movements."

"That's what worries me," his brother replied. "Since when do demons understand stealth?"

"Since that bastard clawed his way topside, leaving his frozen time-out chair empty," Abraxos muttered, finally voicing what they'd all been thinking. A growl rumbled in his chest at the memory of how the Prince of Lies finally traded his icy prison for Earth's playground. "Speaking of Heaven's most wanted. Did you get anything on those energy spikes by the river?"

"It’s clean as a confessor's conscience. Whatever's causing them knows how to cover its tracks." Araton's curse crackled through the comm. "Ayil's checking the warehouse district, but I'm not holding my breath."

Abraxos’s boots hit the rooftop of the Presbytère with practiced silence. The pre-dawn air carried hints of beignets from Café du Monde mixing with traces of power that made his battle instincts hum. Below him, drunk tourists stumbled down Bourbon Street like sheep begging for supernatural predation.

"The Dark Warriors have the port locked down," he reported, scanning the skyline. "Something about this feels wrong. It’s almost like we're being herded."

"Tell me about it. Even the low-level demons are acting with tactical precision. Since when do hell-spawned uglies understand formation fighting?" Araton's question was rhetorical. They all knew the development was courtesy of Lucifer.

Abraxos’s mind went back to the problem at hand. Lucifer was still trying to free the Old Ones. They could all feel it. Even the air was charged like the moment before lightning strikes.

As it had every night for weeks, his gaze drifted to the weathered facade of Crescent City Arcane. Light still burned in the upstairs windows despite the unholy hour. Sarah Morgan was burning the midnight oil again. She was probably lost in those ancient texts she guarded so carefully. She’d been searching for something to help them hunt down Lucifer. Not that he was keeping tabs on the human bookseller. He absolutely wasn't.

"I'm going to check the Quarter's eastern perimeter," he told his brother. "Something's been bugging me all night."

"Sure, it has." Araton's knowing smirk came through loud and clear. "Nothing to do with a certain bookstore that happens to be in that sector?"

"Shut it," Abraxos growled, though his feet were already moving. His wings mantled as he dropped to street level. "The shop houses enough occult knowledge to give Lucifer new ideas. It's tactically sound to ensure its security."

"Keep telling yourself that, brother." Araton's laugh followed him down. "Just remember. Human females are complicated."

"Everything's complicated these days," Abraxos muttered as he landed.

He sent a pulse of angelic power through the wards and into the lock, opening it. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered. The scent hit him first. It was old leather, paper, and something unique. The last one made his ancient blood sing. It was salt air and sunshine. And all Sarah.

Sarah emerged from the stairwell like she was ready for demonic batting practice. She had a Louisville Slugger gripped in hands that clearly knew how to use it. Her dark hair was a mess of waves escaping a messy bun. She was rocking a pair of flannel pajama pants covered in little cartoon skulls and a tank top that showed off curves that did serious damage to his concentration.

"We're closed," she announced. When her eyes landed on Abraxos, there wasn't much heat behind the words. Just the kind of bone-deep weariness that came from dealing with supernatural shit at ass o'clock in the morning. "Unless you're here about the tremors in the Quarter's foundation?"

The female looked ready to go ten rounds with Hell's ugliest. Holy hell wasn't that just perfect? Most humans would be cowering under their beds if they felt the kind of power currently making the Quarter's foundations do the cha-cha. Instead, here she was, barefoot and beautiful, with enough steel in those green eyes to make a demon lord think twice.

Not that he was noticing how that tank top hugged her in all the right places. Or how those flannel pants hung low on her hips. Or how the bat was the icing on one very dangerous, very appealing cake. Shit. He was absolutely noticing all of it.

"You were expecting company?" he drawled as he nodded at her weapon of choice and moved deeper into the shop. His warrior's instincts automatically cataloged exits and sightlines. Old habits died hard.

"In this neighborhood?" Her smile could've cut glass. "Always." She gestured to a shelf where leather-bound volumes shuddered like they were having seizures. "That started around midnight. It’s been driving me batty. Something old is stirring. Do you think he managed to wake the Old Ones? Who are they, anyway?"

How much did this female pick up on? Most assumed she was nothing more than a regular human, but Abraxos detected something else in her. "Define old," he told her.

She shifted her grip on the bat, and damn if that casual display of readiness didn't do things to his concentration. "Old enough to make those pretty wings of yours look like they showed up yesterday for kindergarten orientation." Her eyes tracked his scarlet pinions as they shifted restlessly. "And don't try that 'classified celestial information' bullshit. My books have been practically throwing themselves off the shelves."

Before he could respond, power slammed through the shop's wards like a battering ram. Books flew off shelves as something seemed to hit the side of the building. Abraxos moved without thought when Sarah stumbled. His hands caught her waist and he steadied her against his chest as tremors rocked the building's foundation.

The contact sent awareness shooting through him that had nothing to do with supernatural disturbances. And everything to do with how perfectly she fit against him. Her scent filled his lungs. Salt air and sunshine with an undertone of power no human should have.

"The basement," she gasped as she pushed away from him. "The texts-"

He followed her down narrow stairs into a space that hummed with contained power. Ancient grimoires lined shelves carved with protective sigils to keep them safe. Her family definitely had magical origins, even if she no longer carried much of it. In the center of the room, a massive tome lay open on a pedestal. Its pages turned by themselves as waves of energy pulsed through the space.

"No," Sarah breathed, reaching for the book. "This can't be awakening now."

Abraxos caught her wrist before she could touch the pages. "What is it?"

"The Codex Titanicus." Her voice carried equal parts fascination and fear. "It contains accounts of beings that existed before angels and demons. "

"And you just happen to have this casual piece of apocalyptic literature lying around?"

"It’s a family inheritance." She tried to pull free, but his grip was unbreakable. "Unlike me, my ancestors were more than just booksellers."

The grimoire's pages continued to turn. It revealed illustrations that made his warrior's blood run cold. Ancient beasts with serpentine bodies and multiple heads twisted through darkness. Their scales gleamed like polished obsidian. Creatures with bat-like wings spanning leagues and fangs longer than broadswords prowled through eternal night. There were also things that looked like dragons but weren't. Their bodies were covered with eyes that leaked shadow.

Each page showed horrors that predated angels and demons. These were the firstborn children of pure darkness. Some had bodies made of living flame. Others wore metallic armor. All of them radiated the kind of raw power that made his divine grace recoil in instinctive recognition of something beyond his experience.

"The Titans." Sarah's voice carried ancient weight. "These aren't the fairytales humans know. These are the original nightmares. Beings that make angels and demons look like newborns. And that book? It's been my family's responsibility since before recorded history. I'm the last Guardian left."

As if in response, the book's pages burst into black flame. Sarah cried out and reached for it. Abraxos pulled her behind him as his wings mantled to create a barrier between her and whatever was trying to manifest. "Don't touch it," he growled as power crackled through the air. "That's not normal fire."

"Back off, angel. This is what I was born for," Sarah told him.

Abraxos caught her arm again. "Not happening, female. "

"You don't understand." Steel and desperation mixed in her voice. "That book is bound to my bloodline. I'm the only one who can contain it when it wakes up like this. My grandmother died protecting it. My mother too. I won't fail them."

"And I won't watch you die." His wings created an impenetrable wall of crimson feathers between her and the flaming tome. "There has to be another way."

The flames died suddenly. They stared at a page with an illustration of a massive serpentine beast with multiple heads. Each was crowned with curved horns that stood out a foot on each side of its skull. When a drawing radiated malevolent power like that, Abraxos didn’t want to meet the real thing.

"They're stirring." Her voice shook. "After all these centuries, they're finally waking up. I never imagined it was possible. I’ve heard stories passed down through my family, but nothing ever happened."

"We will stop them," Abraxos vowed. His wings drew tighter around her as his ancient warrior instincts kicked in. Something deeper than battle training made him need to keep her safe.

He watched as her fierce green eyes locked onto him like targeting lasers. Damn if he didn't feel it in his gut. "Not without me. The Codex Titanus," she started, "has been in my bloodline since before there was electricity or indoor plumbing. My ancestors didn't guard it because they enjoyed late-night reading."

True that. The tiny human female had stones of steel to go with that razor-sharp mind. And fuck him, but he was starting to respect both. "Tell me everything." His voice came out rough. Professional. Nothing to do with how she moved as she began to pace. "About the Titans. All of it."

"My grandmother trained me since I could walk." Her voice cut through the darkness like a blade. "Every night after school, while other kids played video games, I learned dead languages and memorized containment protocols. The Codex wasn't bedtime reading. It was battle plans."

She moved to the ancient book with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent a lifetime studying its secrets. Her fingers traced the worn leather binding. Abraxos caught the spark of power that jumped between skin and surface.

"The prison holding them?" She barked out a hard laugh. "It's built into the bedrock of major cities. The tremors we're feeling? That's them testing the walls, looking for structural weaknesses. My family's been monitoring the foundations for generations, tracking energy signatures, mapping fault lines. I never believed it was real. I only went through the motions with Nana."

Her hands ghosted over the grimoire's metal clasps. They were solid things made of cold iron and blessed silver. "The text was written in angel's blood mixed with holy water and sealed with divine fire. My grandmother showed me pictures of the burn scars on her grandmother’s hands from helping rebind it the last time the seal started to fail. There was nothing poetic about that shit."

"Until now?" He kept his voice carefully neutral, though everything in him wanted to move closer.

"Until now." She met his gaze again. "I wished I had taken it more seriously. Look at these passages. The language shifts between ancient Greek, Latin, and another language. The text literally changes depending on who's reading it."

Abraxos leaned closer. His wings created a canopy over them both as they studied the grimoire. The script swam before his eyes before it finally resolved into perfect Enochian. The words made his ancient blood run cold.

"When the first light split the void," he translated, "they were already ancient. What exists now was built in their shadow. Shaped from their dreams and nightmares. The barriers hold them in twilight sleep. When they stir, they will remember and hunger."

Another tremor hit. That one meant business. Loud thudding above their heads told him books had flown off the shelves. Abraxos moved without thinking. His massive crimson wings created a shelter around her smaller form. The contact sent a jolt through his system that had jack to do with the supernatural chaos.

"The wards," he growled against her hair. Over her head, he noticed the complex patterns taking shape around the book. "Those are angelic sigils."

"Apparently, my ancestors knew powerful beings," she shrugged. "It would make sense. We guard more than just books. And before you ask. Yes, I have power. I find it’s easier to keep it masked. And no, I'm not discussing my family history right now."

His phone buzzed because he’d turned his comms off. It was Araton. Probably pissed about another shit show at the port. But this female with her ancient knowledge and hidden power, had become mission-critical. And maybe something more. Fuck.

The Codex pulsed with a sickly light. The pages turned themselves and stopped on diagrams. Sarah's fingers traced symbols that writhed beneath her touch. That was interesting. Her "just a bookseller" facade was getting thinner by the second.

"We need to get this somewhere secure," he said, though his wings refused to retract from their protective arch. "The mansion has wards that?—"

"I'm not leaving my shop." Her words snapped out like a whip. "These books need protection. If something's coming, this knowledge could be our only defense."

"Then I'm staying too." The words came out before he could stop them .

She blinked. "Don't you have a city to patrol?"

"My brothers and the others can handle it." He met her gaze. "This is more important."

His phone buzzed again. Araton's text was terse. “MAJOR SITUATION AT PORT. NEED YOU NOW.”

"Go," Sarah said, not looking up from her work. "I've got this."

"Like hell." He moved close. "You've got knowledge they want. And power they didn't expect. I'm not leaving you unprotected." At least now, it made sense why she had been targeted by the demons before.

She finally looked up, and the fierce intelligence in those green eyes hit him harder than celestial steel. "I'm not helpless."

"I never said you were." His wings shifted restlessly. "But this is bigger than both of us. Whatever's coming – these Titans, the prison break Lucifer is attempting with them – it's going to take all of us working together to stop it."

Another tremor rocked the building. It was stronger this time. The very air seemed to vibrate with wrongness. Above them, books crashed to the floor. "This is getting worse," Sarah said as she snatched the codex and headed up the stairs. Abraxos followed behind her as she moved between the stacks. She shifted the codex to one arm and gathered fallen texts with practiced urgency for several seconds until she looked up at him. "Are you picking up a pattern to them?"

Abraxos shook his head as she led him to a workstation tucked between towering shelves. He hadn’t sensed anything of the sort. Wondering what she was feeling, he focused on the star charts and ley line maps that covered the surface of the desk. Each one was marked with timestamps and energy readings. For someone who claimed to be "just a bookseller," she ran one hell of an intelligence operation.

"Here." She set the codex down and traced a series of intersecting lines. "The pulses are hitting major convergence points, but they're not random. They're searching for something."

Abraxos leaned closer, inhaling that intoxicating mix of salt air and ancient paper that clung to her skin. "Or testing defenses."

"Exactly." She turned to face him. Fucking hell. That was a mistake. They were suddenly inches apart. Her fierce intelligence burned in those green eyes. "The Titans are looking for weak points in the barrier of their prison."

"Where did you learn these calculations?" He asked to distract himself.

"My grandmother." A shadow crossed her face. "I learned everything I know about being a guardian from her. Her whole life was dedicated to watching for signs that they were waking up. I didn’t listen like I should have."

"You couldn’t have known the Titans were real if you never saw proof."

She nodded and sighed. "Among other things." She ran a hand through her hair, loosening more strands from that messy bun. It took all his control not to reach out and touch them. "The books really are weapons. The knowledge was passed down through generations of watchers. That’s how I always thought of us."

Another tremor hit. This one was targeted. It almost felt like something had sensed them discussing it. The Codex's pages began to turn faster, creating a nightmarish flipbook of horror. Abraxos caught glimpses of monsters moving through dimensions like water through a sieve.

"There." Sarah's finger stabbed at a page as the book finally settled. "That's what they're looking for."

The illustration revealed a massive underground complex that made his warrior's instincts scream danger. The structure descended at least fifty levels deep. It had walls of black stone etched with lines of silver sigils. Steel and concrete reinforced the ancient stonework. Mystical containment systems merged seamlessly with ceremonial circles that his angelic eyes recognized as pure power. The blueprints showed a network of chambers that were connected to form a massive binding circle. They were prison cells designed to hold beings that could shatter mountains.

"The Prison," she breathed. "This is what Lucifer is trying to break into."

"And these tremors are what? Attempts at a prison break?"

She lifted one elegant shoulder. "More like... jailhouse riots." She traced symbols that writhed beneath her touch. "Lucifer woke them up, and now they're testing the bars. Looking for stress points where the wards are thinnest."

His phone buzzed again. Araton wasn't playing. “MAJOR SITUATION. CIVILIANS AT RISK.”

"Go." Sarah didn't look up from her work. "I've got this covered."

"You expect me to leave you here alone?" The words came out rougher than intended.

She finally met his gaze. The power in those green eyes hit him like a physical force. "I've been training for this my whole life. My grandmother made damn sure I could handle myself."

The last threads of his control snapped. His hand cupped her face before he could stop himself. "You know that's not why I want to stay."

The air between them thickened until breathing became optional. Her pulse jumped beneath his palm. For one endless moment, he thought she might pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch.

"This is a terrible idea," she informed him at the same time her hands were reaching for him .

"The worst," he agreed. Without another word, he lowered his mouth and claimed hers.

When their tongues tangled together, power exploded between them. It was like someone had crossed divine wires with mortal flame. Her taste was salt air, sunshine, and coffee. It flooded his system like the most addictive drug. His wings curled forward and wrapped around her as he gave himself up to his desire for her.

The kiss lasted somewhere between seconds and centuries. When they finally broke apart, her eyes had gone storm-dark with possibilities. They had nothing to do with their current problems and everything to do with the electricity still crackling between them. Another pulse of energy rocked the city's spiritual bedrock. Their moment shattered like spun glass.

"We have to stop this," she breathed against his mouth.

"We will." He forced himself to step back. Everything in him screamed to keep her close, but he had a duty to fulfill. "But first, I need to help my brothers at the port. Then we figure out exactly what's trying to wake up and how to put it back to sleep."

"And after that?"

His smile held promises. "After that, we're having several conversations. About your power. Your family history. And exactly what this is between us."

"Assuming we survive," she countered as she wrapped her arms over her chest.

"Oh, we'll survive." He stalked to the door and paused just outside. "I've got too many questions that need answering. And you, Sarah Morgan, are the most interesting puzzle I've encountered in centuries."

He was airborne before she could respond, but her laugh followed him into the pre-dawn sky. His brothers needed him, but every instinct screamed to go back. To protect. To claim. She wasn't part of the mission. That didn’t stop how much he wanted her. His existence had just become infinitely more complicated. And he wouldn't have it any other way.