Page 51

RECKONING

SEAN

I pulled myself up from the cold stone, my body protesting every movement.

The taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, to grab Cade and get the hell out of there, but I couldn't move.

Not yet. Not when the air itself seemed to congeal around us, thick with power older than civilization.

The darkness at the center of the ritual circle had solidified, taking shape.

A man stood where Asmodeus had fallen, his blood still staining the ancient stones.

But this was no ordinary man. Power radiated from him in visible waves, distorting the air like heat rising from summer asphalt.

He was beautiful in the way a lightning strike is beautiful—awe-inspiring, perfect, and absolutely deadly.

His eyes were what caught me, held me frozen—golden like Asmodeus's, but deeper, ancient, holding knowledge that no being should possess.

They swept over us with casual interest, as if we were curious insects he'd found in his garden.

When his gaze landed on Cade, who was struggling to rise a few feet away from me, something like recognition flickered across his perfect face.

“At last,” he said, his voice resonating at frequencies that made my bones vibrate. It was a voice that bypassed ears and spoke directly to the soul, to whatever primal part of humans recognizes power beyond their comprehension. “Free, after so many millennia.”

“Who the feck are you?” I managed to say, the words scraping my throat raw.

The being turned to me, those golden eyes studying me with sudden interest. A smile curved his lips, revealing teeth too white, too perfect.

“I am Azrael,” he said, the name rolling from his tongue like thunder. “The Firstborn. The Original Sin.” He stepped forward, and the stone beneath his bare feet cracked, unable to withstand the weight of his existence. “But you may know me as the First Nephilim.”

Cassiel had pulled himself to his knees, blood—or whatever passed for it in an angel—still seeping from the wounds Asmodeus had inflicted. His face was ashen, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“You cannot be here,” Cassiel said, his voice strained with pain and disbelief. “The seals?—”

“The seals are broken,” Azrael cut in, sounding almost bored. “Thanks to your friends here.” His gaze returned to me, sharpening with interest. “Ah, Sean. One of my kind, yet bound in ignorance. Do you even know what you are? Why you haven't embraced it yet?”

His words slithered into my mind like an unshakable truth. The runes etched into my bones since birth burned, responding to his presence. I felt something stir within me, something that had been sleeping my entire life, now awakening at the sound of his voice.

I clenched my fists, ignoring the pain from split knuckles, and forced myself to stand straighter, to meet his gaze despite the primal terror clawing at my gut. “I know enough to say no.”

Azrael smirked, the expression disturbingly human on his otherworldly face. “Pity. I would've shown you true power.”

He turned to Cade next, observing him with keen interest. Cade had managed to get to his feet, but blood still stained his shirt where Asmodeus's claws had torn through it.

The mark on his chest glowed faintly through the fabric, pulsing in time with some rhythm that matched neither his heartbeat nor mine.

“And you...” Azrael said softly, “the soulmarked one. You've been dancing with fate since the day you were born. I imagine your time in Hell was enlightening, though you don't seem to remember.”

Cade gritted his teeth, anger flaring hot in his eyes. “Why don't you enlighten me then?”

Azrael chuckled, the sound rippling through the air like stones dropped in still water. “Now, where's the fun in that? But I'll tell you this—your little wall between your past and your mind? It's cracking. And when it falls, well... we'll see whose side you're truly on.”

I stepped between them, one hand reaching back to grip Cade's arm, partly for support, partly to hold him back from doing anything stupid. “We're not here to listen to your monologue. What do you want?”

Azrael shrugged, the casual gesture incongruous with the aura of ancient power surrounding him. “You, Sean. Your power, unchained. Join me, and we could end the farce that is Heaven and Hell. Reforge the world in our image.”

I met his gaze, fighting the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm me when I looked directly into those golden depths. “Not a chance.”

“Your loss,” he said lightly. “But then, I didn't expect you to agree. Not yet.” His attention shifted to Cassiel, who had managed to stand, though he swayed slightly. “And you, Watcher. Still playing Heaven's games? After they cast you out?”

“I serve a higher purpose than Heaven's politics,” Cassiel replied, his voice steadier than his posture.

“Noble,” Azrael mocked. “Futile, but noble.”

I felt the tension in Cade's arm a split second before he moved. With a wordless snarl of frustration, he launched one of his silver daggers at Azrael's throat, the blade spinning through the air with deadly precision.

Inches from its target, the dagger halted mid-air, suspended by an unseen force. It hung there for a moment, vibrating slightly, before dropping to the stone floor with a clatter that seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

Cade didn't hesitate. The mark on his chest flared brighter, and blackened flames lashed out from his hands. The attack enveloped Azrael completely, obscuring him in darkness for several heartbeats.

When the flames receded, Azrael stood unchanged, untouched, regarding Cade with something between amusement and disappointment, like a teacher whose star pupil had delivered mediocre work.

“You really don't learn, do you?” he sighed.

His aura flared, golden light mixed with shadows that had no source, and the ground beneath us trembled. The air became heavy, pressing down on us with physical force, making it difficult to breathe, to think, to stand.

“Maybe this will teach you,” Azrael said, and moved.

One moment he was standing in the center of the ritual circle, the next Cade was flying backward, slammed into one of the crumbling pillars with enough force to crack the ancient stone. Dust and fragments rained down as Cade slumped to the ground, momentarily stunned.

I threw myself sideways as Azrael continued his movement, barely avoiding a strike that would have connected with my chest. The displaced air rushing past me was enough to make my skin burn.

Rolling to my feet, I drew my twin silver blades—the last weapons I had that might do any damage against a being of such power. I slashed at Azrael's back as he passed, putting all my remaining strength behind the strike.

The blades connected, but it was like trying to cut diamond with butter knives. They skittered across his skin, leaving no mark, the impact jarring my arms painfully.

Azrael turned, his expression almost apologetic, and flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture. Both blades shattered in my hands, fragments slicing my palms as they exploded outward.

“Pathetic,” he said, not unkindly. “Is this really all you have?”

Cassiel chose that moment to join the fray, his celestial blade gleaming with inner light as he lunged at Azrael from behind. The angel moved with grace despite his injuries, his attack perfectly timed to catch Azrael while his attention was on me.

The blade connected with Azrael's forearm, raised at the last second to block the strike. Sparks flew where celestial metal met Nephilim flesh, and for the first time, Azrael's expression registered surprise.

“An angel with backbone,” he remarked, actually sounding impressed. “How refreshing.”

Then his other hand shot out, closing around Cassiel's throat and lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. “But still just an angel fighting a losing war. How poetic.”

He threw Cassiel aside like a discarded toy. The angel crashed through a low stone wall, debris cascading down around his crumpled form.

By now, Cade had recovered enough to rejoin the fight. The Heavenly Lash uncoiled from his hand, golden energy crackling along its length. He struck with precision born of years of hunting, the lash wrapping around Azrael's ankle.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Azrael looked down, genuine pain registering on his face as celestial fire burned against Nephilim skin. But then his expression hardened, and with a sharp tug, he pulled Cade off balance, dragging him forward across the rough stone.

I took advantage of the distraction, retrieving Cade's fallen silver dagger and lunging for Azrael's back again. This time I aimed for the exact spot where Cassiel's blade had connected, hoping it was a weak point.

The dagger sank in, but only barely, penetrating perhaps half an inch before stopping as if it had hit concrete. Azrael hissed, more in annoyance than pain, and spun around, backhanding me with casual force that sent me flying.

I slammed into a stone column twenty feet away, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Pain exploded across my back and shoulders, bright spots dancing in my vision. I slid to the ground, struggling to breathe, to stay conscious.

Through blurred vision, I saw Cade attacking again, refusing to give up despite the blood streaming from a cut above his eye, despite the way he favored his left leg.

The Heavenly Lash struck again and again, each impact connecting but doing less damage than the last, as if Azrael was adapting to it in real time.

“Enough,” Azrael said finally, his patience apparently at an end.

He gestured, and an invisible force slammed into Cade, driving him to his knees. The Lash fell from his grip, its golden light dimming as it hit the stone floor.